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PRIEST AND MAN 






PRIEST AND MAN 


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BY 

J. ADELARD RENE 

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THE EDITOR PUBLISHING CO. 
150 Nassau Street 
NEW YORK 





LIBRARY of CONSflESS 
Two Copies riscciveu 

MAY 17 1905 


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COPY 6. 




Copyright, 1904, by 
J. ADELARD RENE* 



THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO 
MY FRIEND 
3®octor 3tofjn c. 

IN APPRECIATION 
OF HIS CHEERFUL PHILOSOPHY 






































































CONTENTS 


Chapter 

Page 

I. 

Priest and Man 

7 

II. 

Nicolet College 

• 32 

III. 

Defies the Authorities 

• 59 

IV. 

Fateful Promise 

• 75 

V. 

Dr. Lenoir’s Tragic Death 

. 86 

VI. 

Keeping His Vow 

100 

VII. 

Temptations 

l °5 

VIII. 

Father Dorion’s Troubles With His 



Parishioners 

125 

IX. 

He Abandons Priesthood 

138 

X. 

Farewell 

144 

XI. 

Victor as a Miner 

• *55 

XII. 

A Stranger in Their Midst 

162 


























































































































































































































t 




























































8 








































* 


















































































PRIEST AND MAN 


CHAPTER I 

PRIEST AND MAN 

SOME years ago, in the lower part 
of the Province of Quebec, along the 
shores of the St. Lawrence River, you 
would not have found a prettier place 
than Aime Dorion’s farm. The house, 
painted white with green trimmings, 
stood in a grove of pine and maple 
trees whose branches reached majes- 
tically over the little home as if offer- 
ing it protection. Caressed by the 
waves of the St. Lawrence River, its 
sandy banks were inviting to both men 
and beasts. 

Here for fifty years Aime Dorion 
lived; but his soul was never impressed 
by the beauty of his surroundings. If 
[7] 


PREIST AND MAN 


at sunset he smiled, looking over the 
waving sea of golden grain, it was not 
because he saw its sublime beauty, but 
because of the promise of a generous 
crop. A beautiful day appealed to 
him because it meant a good day’s 
work; but never would he pause in the 
early spring mornings to listen to the 
blended melodies of singing birds. To 
him there was nothing in life but work, 
and the poetical significance of nature 
had never illuminated his honest but 
coarse soul. His wife was his coun- 
terpart, and the charms of romance 
had never crossed the threshold of her 
heart. 

Brought up in the same village, they 
received their education at the same 
school and partook of their first com- 
munion in the same church, side by side. 
Before they were twenty it seemed 
fitting that they should be united. 
Accordingly, they went to church to 
have the priest pronounce them man 
and wife, and came out satisfied that 
their life was to be prosperous because 
their union was blessed by the priest. 


PRIEST AND MAN 


Passionless, they attended the wed- 
ding festivities; but the strong fire of 
love was not burning in their hearts, 
and they felt none of the intoxication 
that fills the soul with golden dreams 
for the future. 

True, they were happy, but with that 
prosaic happiness which is nothing 
but a degree of satisfaction such as a 
healthy person feels when accomplish- 
ing a pleasant duty. As they held each 
other’s hands they felt none of love’s 
tremor which quickens the heart beats. 
When their lips met it was only for an 
instant, instead of lingering in the 
sweet sensations of unsatisfied love. To 
Aime Dorion and his wife their mar- 
riage was nothing more than a step in 
the routine of life. The flowers that 
grew around them carried no message 
to their unpoetical natures, and the sun- 
rise that made the dewdrops glitter like 
millions of diamonds meant no more to 
them than the beginning of a new day. 

In religious matters they blindly be- 
lieved that there was no good religion 
but the Roman Catholic, and in mat- 
te] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


ters trivial or important the priest’s 
verdict was final and supreme. They 
believed that he possessed supernatural 
powers, and that he held the keys to 
heaven and to hell. 

The village priest, a good and kind- 
hearted old man, was a frequent visitor 
at the young couple’s home, where he 
was always received with honor and 
reverence. 

Father Victor Morin was of the old 
type of priests, who taught a hell full 
of brimstone for those who died with 
an unforgiven sin upon their conscience 
and while of a most kind nature, always 
ready to succor the dying and to aid 
the poor, he was most rigid in matters 
of religion. He believed firmly all he 
preached, and recognized no law but 
that of the Roman Catholic Church. 

About a year after Aime Dorion’s 
marriage the cries of a girl-baby were 
heard in the house, and a few days later 
the little thing was baptized in the 
church where he himself had received 
the sacred rites; but like a flower that 
fades away before exhaling its per- 

[io] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


fume, so passed this first-born; and a 
few days after the village church bells 
had announced the baptism of a new- 
born they rang the funeral “glas” of 
a departed soul. 

“ God’s will,” said the old priest in 
his saintly way, and Aime Dorion’s 
eyes shed no tears, satisfied that God’s 
will was for the best; while the grief- 
stricken mother repressed the sobs that 
might have relieved her poor heart. It 
would have been a sin to have refused 
to be consoled by the priest’s words. 

After the funeral service Aime 
Dorion paid the priest, and adding a 
few dollars to the usual fee, he asked 
that masses be said for the birth of a 
boy. Satisfied that such would be the 
case, he went back to pursue his usual 
work and in a short time there was 
mingled with their grief a mild joy in 
the belief that in heaven a little angel 
watched over them. Such is the power 
of religion. 

Still for a long time after when- 
ever the mother came across some of 
the little clothes that had been pre- 
in] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


pared for the departed child a feeling 
of sadness came over her soul and she 
knew that part of her life had gone out 
with the little one. 

During many weeks the bereaved 
woman failed to sing in the early morn- 
ings as she used to do; but one day as 
Aime was leaving for the field he 
heard the sound of his wife’s voice float- 
ing sweetly in the pure matinal atmos- 
phere, and the hope of a son sprung up 
in his soul. 

“ Monsieur le Cure, if it is a boy, and 
if God lets him live, I’ll make a priest 
of him,” said the hopeful farmer to the 
old father one Sunday after mass, and 
the old man smiled and answered, 
“ May God hear you, Aime.” After 
a time, the much-desired boy made his 
appearance in this world, and its strong 
voice announced a healthy pair of 
lungs, and Aime Dorion was happier 
than ever. 

A few weeks later, when he and the 
sponsors took the child to the church 
for baptism, the priest asked, “What 
shall his name be?” 

[ 12 ] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


“Victor, ’’was the proud answer; and 
as the priest sprinkled the holy water 
upon the child the father turned his 
face towards the altar and fervently 
promised that his son should be a priest. 

Just then the child’s voice was heard 
as if protesting, but as Aime Dorion 
looked upon the little face there was 
no doubt in his mind that his child was 
destined to be a minister of God. 

The priest received his fee, and they 
all left the moist and cold atmosphere 
of the church, to drive back home in the 
clear sunshine of the day. When they 
reached home the child was given to 
its mother, who fondly kissed it, and 
then, looking up to her husband, who 
stood by the bed, a smile of great joy 
came over her face. The next instant 
her husband was bending over her, kiss- 
ing her with more feeling than he ever 
had felt before, for he was now 
prompted by religious fervor. 

After this his countenance was more 
gentle, and on his features cheerfulness 
lingered, for was he not certain that 
his son would be a priest? That 
[13] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


meant salvation for them all; for in 
those days it was the belief among these 
simple-minded folk that none among a 
priest’s family could be damned. 

His wife was again pursuing her 
household duties and they believed that 
the future held great things in store for 
them. At night while Aime smoked 
his pipe near the big fireplace they 
spoke of those blessed days when the 
child, who was nursing at its mother’s 
breast, would be a sainted man, wearing 
the black “soutane” of priesthood. 

A few years later, when the boy was 
big enough to play around the house 
and pluck flowers in the garden, the old 
priest would often come and hold the 
lad upon his knee, caressing the little 
curly head and calling the boy his little 
“ vicaire,” to the delight of his parents. 
Strange as it was, the lad had none of 
the features of his parents. Both 
father and mother were dark, while the 
boy was fair, and in his golden curls 
there was as much sunshine as there was 
darkness in the black hair of his par- 
ents. His eyes were steel blue, while 
[14] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


theirs were brown; and his nose was of 
the Roman type, while theirs were 
rather inclined to be flat. They had 
thin lips; the boy’s were sensual, and 
his cheeks were as plump and fresh as 
the pinkest poppy when just bathed in 
God’s dew. His first lesson in life was 
to learn to make upon himself the sign 
of the cross; and almost as soon as he 
could say “mamma” and “papa,” he 
knew how to pronounce, while crossing 
himself, “ au nom du Pere, du Fils, et 
du Saint-Esprit” 

One evening when the old priest had 
come to visit, tears filled his eyes when 
the mother made the little boy kneel 
down and say his prayer. Bowing his 
little curly head upon the lap of his 
mother and joining together his small 
dimpled hands, after making the sign 
of the cross, he repeated the carefully 
taught prayer with such sweet inno- 
cence that, indeed, it would have been a 
hard-hearted person who could have 
witnessed the little homely scene with- 
out being impressed. Such was the 
[15] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


first education of Victor, the child des- 
tined to be a priest. 

When he was sent to the village 
school it was almost with reverence 
that the school-mistress spoke to him, 
because he was known to be “ le pro- 
tege de Monsieur le Cure.” He was 
an intelligent boy and could learn 
quickly, but he was different from the 
other children; their plays had no in- 
terest for him. At the age when boys 
think of nothing but games, he pre- 
ferred solitude ; he was a dreamer. All 
the poetry that nature had refused to 
his parents seemed to have been be- 
stowed upon him; and from his early 
boyhood Victor Dorion was a lover of 
nature. The fragrance of the wild 
flowers filled his soul with delightful 
sensations. The song of the night- 
ingale, brought to his ears by the even- 
ing breeze that caressed his flaxen curls, 
made him linger in the fields; and he 
would rather sit down and watch the 
sunset than intone an “ alleluia” in the 
choir. 

When the time for his first com- 
[16] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


munion came, it was with an almost 
angelic reverence that he knelt at the 
altar and received the holy sacrament 
from the hands of the priest, who could 
not hide a smile of satisfaction as he 
glanced at the boy. The ceremony of 
his first communion was just the kind 
that appealed to Victor’s emotional na- 
ture, and that day was like a dream to 
him. 

Later, at that age when one passes 
into adolescence, Victor felt a great 
change in his nature. The possibili- 
ties of committing sins came vividly to 
him, and when he went to confession he 
felt a queer hesitation enter his soul. 
Desires to hold a girl’s hand and kiss 
her lips had reached his heart, and he 
knew that these things were sins; but 
there was so much happiness in the 
mere imagining such joy that it broke 
his yet innocent heart to have to go to 
the confessional and tell of these 
dreams. It was at the time when these 
feelings were surging in his soul, that, 
coming home from school one day, he 
found himself walking with a girl of 
[17] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


his age, the village doctor’s daughter, a 
pretty little maiden with cheeks as pink 
as the petals of a glowing rose when it 
coquets with the rising sun. Her brows 
were like black lines evenly arched as 
though peeping into her clear eyes, and 
her hair was interwoven with pretty 
bright ribbons. 

He was carrying her books, and now 
and then she stopped to pluck some 
wild flowers that she held close to his 
face to have him enjoy their fragrance. 
Without knowing how, Victor dropped 
the books on the ground and before the 
astonished maiden had time to realize 
it, he had kissed her on the lips. 

“Shame on you — bad boy!” she ex- 
claimed, and Victor’s face flushed with 
a feeling of guilt. Red as a cherry, he 
could not raise his eyes to look at the 
pouting little mouth that his lips had 
just met. 

“ If you will promise not to do it 
again, I’ll not tell on you, Victor.” 

They walked silently for awhile, she 
forgetful of the flowers on the wayside, 
[18] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


and he too dazed to realize what he 
was doing. 

That evening at supper Victor had 
nothing to say. His appetite was poor, 
and when his mother asked him what 
was the matter his eyes filled with tears 
and he left the table to go to his bed. 

Early the next morning, Victor was 
on his way to the village church, where 
he wanted to enter the confessional and 
confess to the old priest what he 
thought was a great sin. 

When his turn arrived to enter the 
little cage-like confessional Victor felt 
nervous. He knew that in order to 
obtain absolution he would have to 
promise not to commit the same sin 
again. 

The little wooden slide was pushed 
aside and through the grate-like open- 
ing Victor saw the face of the old 
priest, who said to him, “ Commence, 
my son.” 

He recited his “ confiteor,” and then 
began his confession. It was the reci- 
tation of petty offenses, and the priest 
[19] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


was ready to absolve him, when he 
asked him, “ Is that all, my son? ” 

“No, my father, I have one more sin 
to confess — and it is of having kissed a 
girl” 

With head bowed down in fervent 
repentance, the boy, at the uncalled re- 
membrance of the sweetness of that 
kiss, waited to hear the priest’s words. 

“My son, you must promise never 
to do it again. It is an impure action, 
and none but the pure will reach 
heaven. If you feel the temptation 
enter our- soul, go away by yourself and 
pray the Blessed Virgin to give you 
courage to resist. Now, my son, say 
your act of contrition and I will give 
you my absolution for all your sins.” 

When Victor came out of the confes- 
sional he walked like one relieved of a 
heavy load, and on his face shone the 
innocent happiness resulting from a 
performance of duty. He remained in 
church to attend mass and receive the 
sacrament. 

When, later, he went home, his 
mother knew that her boy was relieved 
[20] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


of some trouble, and also that he had 
been at the confessional. 

That day at school Victor strictly 
kept at his books, but somehow the 
feeling that the doctor’s daughter was 
near him caused him to feel a redness 
creeping over his face more than once. 
After school, while hurrying back 
home, he heard the steps of some one 
following him, and he knew who it was. 
A great struggle was taking place in 
his boyish soul, and when he heard his 
name being called, religious fanati- 
cism had the best of his nature. With- 
out answering or looking back, the boy 
started to run as fast as he could; but 
Marie-Louise followed him, having as 
much agility of limb as he possessed. 
On they ran, he holding onto his cap, 
and she to her little bonnet. 

“ Don’t be afraid, Victor, it’s me, 
Marie-Louise ! Why don’t you wait? ” 

Just then Victor's foot struck a stone 
on the road, and down he went, bump- 
ing his nose against the books he carried 
in his hands. 

The next instant Marie-Louise was 
[ 21 ] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


helping him to get up, and noticing 
blood flowing from his nose and mouth, 
she, with tears of sympathy in her eyes, 
wiped his face with her little white 
handkerchief. 

“ I am so sorry, Vic ; I know it is my 
fault; but what made you run away 
from me?” 

The boy was too dazed to answer her, 
but stared at the little thing, who was 
taking a motherly care of him; he felt 
a great sob rise in his throat, and blind- 
ing tears filled his eyes. 

“ Does it hurt you, Vic? ” 

“ It is not that, Marie, but Monsieur 
le Cure told me to run away from you,” 
and that was all he could say, unable to 
choke the sobs caused by the storm that 
raged in his over-sensitive child’s 
heart. 

“Why should Monsieur le Cure 
want you to run away from me? I 
am not a bad girl, am I, Vic? ” 

“No — but — I — might be tempted to 
kiss you again — don’t you remember? 
— and it is a sin.” 

“Well, you don’t have to kiss me, 
[22] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


Victor. Look at me; I never think of 
such a thing,” and the little girl stood 
erect, looking with all the intensity of 
her soul through her big dark eyes. 

She picked up his books, and while he 
held her little handkerchief to his nose 
with one hand he took hold of her 
hand with the other, and in peace they 
walked towards their homes. 

During a few minutes not a word 
passed between the two; then the girl 
spoke up: “Victor, I am sure Mon- 
sieur le Cure won’t mind your walking 
with me if you don’t try to kiss me any 
more.” 

“ Well, I’ll try not to,” answered Vic- 
tor, taking a shy glance at his pretty 
little companion. 

When they arrived at the home of 
Marie-Louise, and Victor had to let go 
of her hand and take his books, he 
squeezed the little brown fingers so 
hard that she could not help crying, 
“ Ouch!” 

Once alone, Victor was surprised to 
feel that he was almost glad he had 
fallen ; and remembering that the hand- 
[23] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


kerchief he still held to his bleeding 
nose was hers, he put it to his lips and 
kissed it. 

After this Victor knew that he was 
strong enough to resist the temptation 
of kissing her, and they walked to and 
from school together. Every day 
seemed to make the doctor’s; little 
daughter prettier. The awakening of 
love had brought to her pink cheeks 
new tints, and her big black eyes were 
softer. She loved Victor with that pure 
love that comes to a girl’s soul as sweet 
fragrance to flowers. She was not 
aware that her sentiments for Victor 
were buds that only needed time to blos- 
som into the red roses of that divine love 
which is the truest sign of a woman’s 
noble heart. 

Around her neck, tied to a litle blue 
ribbon, she carried a small brass cru- 
cifix that he had given her; and when 
at night, saying her prayers, she kissed 
the image of crucified Christ, it was 
always with a thought for the giver of 
the little cross. 

In return for this crucifix she had 
[24] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


given him a small medallion with the 
picture of the Virgin on it, and Victor 
had tied it to his string of beads; and 
many times during the day. he carried 
the little medallion to his lips, not in a 
spirit of religion, but prompted by his 
love for the giver. 

Such was the beginning of their love. 
It sprang amidst the narrow fanaticism 
of religious teachings, and like the wild 
roses that grow among the stones of 
sterile land, strong and beautiful, so 
grew their first love. 

True to his promise made at the con- 
fessional, Victor no more kissed Marie- 
Louise, except in dreams, when, in the 
darkness of the night, he woke up to 
find his lips close to his pillow, dream- 
ing that it was his love’s face. Such 
was the boyhood of Victor, the boy 
destined to become a priest. 

The days of the village school were 
over, and Marie-Louise’s father had 
sent her to Montreal to spend her vaca- 
tion, while Victor’s father was making 
preparations to send him to college. 
After a long consultation with the cure, 
[25] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


it was agreed that Victor should be sent 
to Nicolet College, where Father 
Morin himself had completed his 
studies, and had come out wearing the 
habit of priesthood. 

Victor was fifteen, and since Marie- 
Louise’s absence from the village he 
was more of a dreamer than ever. He 
spent his days along the shores of the 
St. Lawrence, where, under some tall 
tree, he dreamed of the girl he loved, 
and enjoyed the beauties of nature. 
Carrying in his pocket the letters she 
wrote him, he read them over and over 
again, until every word was imprinted 
on his heart; and at night by the tallow 
candle, when his parents were in bed, 
he answered them in his peculiar style. 
The close of the vacation time was 
drawing near, and his hope to see her 
was shattered when he learned that her 
father had decided that she should re- 
main in Montreal to attend school in 
the Ste. Marie Convent. 

Oh! the bitterness of that news! He 
had dreamed of the time when she 
would come and tell him all about the 
[26] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


city, and now she was not coming back. 
In a few more days it would be impos- 
sible for them to write to each other, 
because the rules of those Catholic in- 
stitutions do not permit such corre- 
spondence. That evening he went to 
the little postoffice and got what he 
knew was her last letter of that vaca- 
tion. Sitting by the wayside, he read it 
while tears coursed down his cheeks. 
It was a message full of suffering, love, 
and despair, and the last paragraph 
read as follows : 

“ To-morrow, Victor, the door of the 
convent will close upon me and I shall 
not be permitted to write or receive let- 
ters from you. It is the most cruel 
thing that ever made my heart bleed, 
and like the lark that sees its freedom 
taken away by the shutting of the cruel 
doors of a cage, to-morrow my freedom 
will cease. The greatest pleasure of 
my life, that of writing to you, my dear 
love, will not be permitted to me ; but 
rest assured, Victor, they can’t close the 
doors of my heart, and your love will 
[27] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


flow in it as pure as ever. Your re- 
membrance will fortify me for the long 
separation and I will nurse in my soul 
the dearest thing in the world to me, 
your love. I will pray for you, Vic- 
tor; I will ask the Blessed Virgin to 
take care of you and keep you true and 
sincere to me, your first love. To me, 
who would not care for life if you were 
not in the world. At night-time I 
think of you and kiss the little crucifix 
you gave me, and I know, Victor, that 
the good God will protect and bless 
you. 

“ Good-bye. Remember me always, 
when you play, when you sing, when 
you eat, when you sleep, and when you 
pray. 

“Marie-Louise.” 

Many times during the reading of 
these lines Victor had to stop, for the 
tears in his eyes blurred everything; 
but when he had read the last words he 
gritted his teeth and closed his fingers 
until the nails pierced the palms of his 
hands, muttering, “ Oh — some day 
[28] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


they will not be able to keep us apart 
like this! ” 

When he reached home the old 
priest was there, and with a smile upon 
his face, he said to Victor: “ Victor, 
your father is making great sacrifices 
in order to send you to college, and I 
am sure he’ll never have cause to be 
sorry.” 

The boy stared at the priest, but 
failed to answer. 

“What! Are you not glad to have 
the great advantage of getting an edu- 
cation in the best seminary in Canada? 
Think of all the boys who would be so 
glad to have that chance.” 

All this time Victor was thinking of 
Marie-Louise, and as tears came to his 
eyes the old priest thought that they 
were brought by the idea of leaving 
home. 

“You must not feel bad, Victor. 
Your parents will be allowed to visit 
you once in awhile, and, besides, you’ll 
have so much to study that you’ll not 
have time to be lonesome.” 

“ The poor boy was never away from 
[29] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


home,” said the mother, and the father 
added: “ He’ll get used to it after 

awhile.” 

“ Good night,” was all Victof could 
say. Then he went to his room, where 
he sat down for a long while, holding 
in his hand Marie-Louise’s letter. 

The next morning he helped his 
father to put his trunk on the barouche, 
and after kissing his mother good-by, 
he was on his way to Nicolet College, 
with his father. 

Wrapped in a loose overcoat made 
of home-spun wool, Victor sat close to 
his father without saying a word. His 
countenance was exceedingly gentle, 
but on his features no cheerfulness lin- 
gered ; and as he turned around to wave 
his hand to his mother, who stood at the 
little gate of the garden, his gaze wan- 
dered toward the home of the girl he 
loved so dearly, and the next instant the 
moisture in his eyes made everything 
look blurred. 

As they traversed the country with its 
verdant fields and its clumps of trees, 
the untarnished soul of Victor failed to 
[30] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


absorb the beauties of nature, for it was 
occupied with minute recollections of 
days that would come no more. He 
felt and knew that nothing goes back 
to its beginning, that no stream returns 
to its source, that he must run with the 
years, and that only in remembrance 
could he again take those walks to the 
little village school with Marie-Louise. 
His father, now and then, said some- 
thing about his future conduct while in 
college, but Victor could hardly answer 
him, so intensely was he living his last 
hours of freedom. 


[3d 

# 


CHAPTER II 


NICOLET COLLEGE 

At last they reached Nicolet, and 
Aime Dorion pointed to his son the col- 
lege, whose silhouette could be seen 
standing out against the sky. A big, 
quadrangular, stone building, three 
stories high, with pent roof and gray 
blinds. Beautiful ivy clings to the old 
stone walls and decorates them in a 
singular way. It is a stately and mas- 
sive building, but it is mournful. An 
attempt at gaiety is seen in the bright 
flowers in the garden, but the most nu- 
merous flowers are those of the species 
called “ Passion Flowers,” because its 
pistils represent the cross, the nails, and 
the crown of thorns, in beautiful tints 
of liquid blue. The tall pines seemed 
to be singing a woeful song when Vic- 
tor and his father drove under them, 
[32] 


NICOLET COLLEGE 


and the heavy steps of the horse creaked 
on the gravel avenue. The old Father 
Director of the institution stepped out 
of the big oak door and waited until 
Victor alighted from the barouche. 
Then, advancing to the boy, the old 
priest looked at him inquisitively and 
said to the boy’s father, “ A new 
eleve? ” 

“Yes, Monsieur le Cure,” answered 
the father, who handed him the letter 
of recommendation which had been 
given him by his village priest. 

The director read it, and then with a 
broad smile on his face, he shook hands 
with the father; and taking Victor by 
the hand, he led them to the “ parloir,” 
where the arrangements for Victor’s 
board and other details received atten- 
tion. 

After this the director invited both 
to visit the different parts of the institu- 
tion. Victor’s father was much inter- 
ested in the long corridors and large 
studying-rooms, but the chapel most 
impressed him. As they were passing 
from one apartment to the other, stu- 
[ 33 ] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


dents of years before were met, and they 
stopped and stared at the “ nouveau.” 

Victor felt as much interested as a 
prisoner does when taken to his cell, 
and when the time to part from his 
father arrived he felt a mighty sorrow 
enter his soul and he broke down com- 
pletely, crying as he had never in his 
life before. His father spoke a few 
consoling words and then took his de- 
parture. 

“My child,” spoke the director, as 
he led Victor to the dormitory, where 
he was to put on the college costume — 
blue coat with white stripes, and a green 
sash — “you must resign yourself to 
your parents’ will, which is also God’s 
will. You will be happy here, if you 
will do your duty. Now, don’t cry 
any more ; some of the other boys might 
see you and tease you about it. Come 
to the recreation room.” 

At the recreation hall, a long, bare 
room with wooden seats all around, 
Victor was left with about two hundred 
boys, all of whom, it seemed to him, 
were looking at him. 

[ 34 ] 


NICOLET COLLEGE 


Near the door he dropped down on 
a bench and remained there, all alone, 
until supper time, when the bell rang, 
and he was conducted to his place. 
Then the master, a young theologian, 
gave the signal for everyone to kneel 
down, and a short prayer was said, after 
which, in silence, the students marched 
to the refectory, where again a short 
prayer was said before sitting to eat. 
During meals silence was always ob- 
served, except for the loud reading of 
some religious work by one of the stu- 
dents, this being done in turn. Victor 
simply made an attempt at eating some 
of the coarse food placed before him, 
“chiard,” they called it. After the 
twenty minutes allowed for supper, he 
followed the rest of the students to the 
recreation hall, where again he sat by 
himself and refused to take any notice 
of the advances made by some of the 
boys. Later, after going to the chapel 
for the evening prayer and the recita- 
tions of the litanies, they marched in 
single file to the dormitory, where they 
were allowed five minutes to undress 
[ 35 ] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


and retire in the most rigid silence. The 
two candles, one at each end of the hall, 
were extinguished and the master re- 
tired to his little curtained corner for 
the night. Every noise died away and 
in the darkness of the night the silence 
seemed to breed more unhappiness in 
Victor’s soul. As he pulled the blan- 
kets over his head a great despair 
seized him and he felt as if drowning, 
and at that moment he craved for his 
mother so much that he unknowingly 
called, “ Mother! Mother! ” 

In answer he heard heavy steps com- 
ing in his direction, and the next in- 
stant the master was standing close to 
his bed. But he made no motion, and 
soon the sound of the same heavy steps 
told him that the master had returned 
to his couch. 

For hours Victor was unable to 
sleep; and his nervousness was in- 
creased by the snoring of those, more 
fortunate, who were enjoying slumber, 
and likely dreaming of their homes. 
His mind was in a turmoil, and when 
he tried to induce sleep by reciting his 
[36] 


NICOLET COLLEGE 


“ Ave Maria,” he found that each time 
he came to the name of Maria his mind 
wandered from his prayer to Marie- 
Louise. At last he fell into a semi- 
dozing state, only to dream of hia home- 
life and of the girl who had taken such 
a place in his young nature. 

At half-past five in the morning the 
bell rang, and it was the signal for the 
boys to hurry out of bed and dress after 
washing their faces. 

Many failed to wake at the sound of 
the bell and the master had to go to 
their beds and knock their toes with a 
wooden rule that he carried for that 
purpose. But Victor was one of the 
first to get up and dress, and it was with 
a feeling of relief that he walked out 
of the dormitory to the chapel to say 
morning prayers and attend mass. 

Victor now fully made up his mind 
to resign himself to his fate. During 
the divine service he prayed for more 
courage and resignation, and he felt 
much better after mass when he went to 
the study room, a long and dreary hall 
with unpainted tables and benches, illu- 
[ 37 ] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


minated by tallow candles stuck in 
small holes in the tables. At breakfast 
he ate with some appetite, and during 
the twenty minutes of recreation that 
followed he was willing to be friendly 
with some of the boys of his age. 
Later, when the professors came to the 
recreation hall and called out the stu- 
dents to their respective classes, Victor 
was called by the professor of “ Ele- 
ments,” and with about sixty others 
went to his classroom. His professor 
was a young priest of the kindest dis- 
position and Victor liked him at once. 
In the classroom Victor was placed 
next to a boy named Louis Pichette, a 
handsome lad with large blue eyes, rosy 
cheeks, and yellow curls, in fact, too 
pretty a face to be becoming to a boy, 
but Louis was apparently unconscious 
and indifferent to his effeminate good 
looks. He was of a sympathetic nature 
and from the first he felt himself drawn 
toward Victor. During the following 
recreation, the two walked together, 
and it was the beginning of a friend- 
ship that endured through life. Louis 
[38] 


NICOLET COLLEGE 


was of an indolent turn of mind and 
rather slow to learn, while Victor was 
active and quick to grasp the mean- 
ing of things, and consequently he had 
much time to spare and help Louis, 
who took advantage of this fact. It 
was not long before the professor real- 
ized that Victor was an exceptionally 
bright boy and that he would be the 
star of his class, while it was evident 
that Louis was the opposite and would 
be at the foot. For these reasons it 
was a puzzle to the young priest that 
these two should be such close friends, 
and he was in doubt as to the advisa- 
bility of permitting such friendship 
for fear that Louis’ lazy ways might 
have a bad influence upon Victor. 

In his intense friendship for Louis 
Victor seemed to have found an outlet 
for his surplus of love for Marie- 
Louise; and this new condition some- 
what relieved the great strain which 
his hyper-emotional nature had suf- 
fered since his departure from home. 
He felt keenly the sorrows of Louis, 
and was most sensitive to his happiness. 

[ 39 ] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


Being of the same size, they wore each 
other’s clothes, and went so far as to 
trade prayer-beads. At play they usu- 
ally managed to be on the same side, 
and their “ camaraderie ” was an estab- 
lished fact recognized by the other 
scholars, who nicknamed them “ les 
chats.” They found pleasure in the 
foolish squeezing of each other’s hands, 
and enjoyed writing loving notes. In 
these notes, full of boyish, loving ex- 
pressions, Victor often called Louis 
“ Louise,” and one of these papers one 
day fell into the hands of their pro- 
fessor. It was not signed, but he recog- 
nized Victor’s writing at once and after 
class asked him to remain. 

“ Victor, who is Louise?” was the 
first question he asked the surprised 
boy, who blushed and bowed his head 
without answering. 

“ You must tell me, or I will report 
you to the director,” added the pro- 
fessor, holding the little note in his 
hand. 

“ Louise is Doctor Lenoir’s daughter 
— and she is in a convent in Montreal,” 
[40] 


NICOLET COLLEGE 


answered Victor, almost glad to be able 
to tell the truth and still not divulge 
the fact that the note had been written 
to Louis Pichette, as it would certainly 
have meant their separation had it 
been known that such an unnatural flir- 
tation was taking place between them. 

“What made you write such a note 
when you know that it is forbidden to 
write to girls? ” 

“ I will not do it again,” was Victor’s 
evasive answer. 

“Well, Victor, if you promise me 
not to do it again, I will not punish 
you nor mention it to anyone; but re- 
member your promise,” and the kind 
professor tore the note in many pieces, 
to the boy's relief. Victor wrote no 
more notes to Louis, but their abnor- 
mal friendship continued and showed 
itself in many ways, such as loving 
glances or the pressure of hands when- 
ever they had an opportunity. 

This play at love had a soothing ef- 
fect on his sensitive nature and eased 
the restless craving for emotion that 
[41] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


lay deep in his soul. The arbitrary 
rules of such an institution as Nicolet 
College are often wholly irrational and 
tragic in their consequences, and the 
absolute prohibition to write at his lib- 
erty to those from whom the boy is 
separated and whom he may love in- 
tensely, has a touch of tyranny and is 
often responsible for such abnormal 
passion as will develop between two 
boys, as in the case of Victor and Louis. 
The human heart is never satisfied, and 
when the sacredness of its liberty is in- 
terfered with, and an outlet for its sur- 
plus of passion is denied, something 
morbid or abnormal is very apt to re- 
sult. The heart of a fifteen-year-old 
boy may be tormented by passions that 
never assailed the hearts of men whose 
hair has turned gray in the common 
by-ways of years. Those who make 
such rules do not suspect that anything 
is wrong with their observation of hu- 
man nature and human character! 
They are unconscious of their own lack 
of feeling, and they do not realize the 
fact that the sensitive and delicate- 
[42] 


NICOLET COLLEGE 


minded young men in their charge are 
endowed with the faculty of feeling the 
intensely manly passions that rise in 
their souls. 

Days and months went by, and still 
Victor’s love for Marie-Louise was as 
keen as when he had left home for col- 
lege, but he had learned to master his 
emotions. To all appearances he was 
a happy boy, but a close student of 
human nature could have detected a 
light of sadness in his eyes when at 
times his mind wandered back to his 
village school days, and when the 
month of May came, and with it the 
special religious ceremonies in honor 
of the Blessed Virgin, it was something 
else besides religious enthusiasm that 
made him so happy when he was asked 
to sing some of the sacred odes to 
Mary, and the sweetness of his voice 
was a revelation when he sang: 

“ C’est le mois de Marie, 

C’est le mois le plus beau.” 

The feeling with which he pro- 
nounced the name of “ Marie” was at- 
[ 43 ] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


tributed to his religious fervor, but 
had they been able to read his heart 
the priests would have been shocked 
to find the name of “ Marie-Louise.” 
While his voice sang to the Blessed 
Virgin Mary, his soul’s music was for 
the little brown-eyed girl he loved so 
much. 

The end of the school-year was ap- 
proaching and Victor, first in his class, 
was anxiously waiting for the day when 
he should return home. Little he 
cared for the prizes he was to receive. 
One glance from Marie-Louise would 
be much dearer to his soul than all the 
prizes given to him during the final 
exercises. 

At last the day came — a bright and 
beautiful June day. Nature itself 
seemed to rejoice with the regiment of 
boys who were to be given their liberty 
after ten months of that life, hardly 
better than a prisoner’s. 

Aime Dorion, accompanied by the 
old village priest, arrived early, and 
the director brought Victor to them and 
told them that he was to receive the first 
[44l 


NICOLET COLLEGE 


prize in his class. Aime Dorion felt a 
great pride in his soul, and as he 
looked into the handsome boy’s face, 
in whose veins ran the blood of his 
blood, he was tempted to press him 
tenderly to his heart. The old priest 
felt that he also was entitled to some of 
the father’s pride, and, turning to the 
director, he said with an air of con- 
fidence : 

“ Monsieur le Directeur, this boy is 
to be my ‘vicaire.’ We’ve decided 
that long ago, haven’t we, Victor?” 

“You and father have,” answered 
the boy, as a strange light shone in his 
eyes for a moment. 

“Well, well, he’ll make a better 
singer than most of us are, Monsieur 
le Cure,” said the director, smiling 
kindly at the boy, and then adding, “ he 
is the best singer we have.” 

In the afternoon, during the distri- 
bution of prizes, Victor’s father sat in 
the front row, next to the old cure, who 
handed the boy his prize, which con- 
sisted of a large red-covered volume of 
some saint’s life. 


[45l 


PRIEST AND MAN 


It was quite late in the afternoon 
when the ceremony was over, but Vic- 
tor insisted upon going home at once. 
Soon after shaking hands with his class- 
mates and receiving the director’s bless- 
ing, he had the satisfaction of feeling 
himself on the road to his native village 
where he anticipated the joy of meet- 
ing the little queen of his heart. The 
old priest and his father sat on the 
back seat of the barouche, and he held 
the lines, sitting alone on the front seat. 
While his father and the cure were dis- 
cussing the blessings of a college edu- 
cation Victor was urging the old gray 
mare at such a rapid and unusual gait 
that his father said: “ Hold on, sonny; 
don’t kill ‘ la grise.’ ” 

It was quite dark when the rumbling 
noise of another rig was heard ahead 
of them. When they caught up to it 
Victor drew the line so as to drive by, 
when his father said, “ Hello, that’s 
Doctor Lenoir.” It was indeed the 
doctor driving home with his daughter 
Marie-Louise, who also rejoiced in the 
thought of her vacation. 

[46] 


NICOLET COLLEGE 


“ Hello, Dorion, and Monsieur le 
Cure,” answered the doctor, who had 
recognized them; and as the two car- 
riages were going side by side the old 
priest spoke up : 

“Well, well, Doctor, let the lad here 
drive your old plug, and come in with 
us.” 

“All right — we’ll let the youngsters 
drive together,” answered the doctor; 
“ it will do the boy good to drive a good 
horse. Whoa!” 

“Whoa,” said Victor, who gladly 
exchanged place with the doctor. 

So overcome by this happy incident 
were the two young lovers that for a 
few moments they could not speak. 
Marie-Louise was the first to recover 
herself, and she said: 

“Well, Monsieur Victor, are you 
glad to come back home?” 

“ Am I ! But what did you call me? 
Monsieur Victor?” 

“Victor, then,” said Marie-Louise, 
blushing in the moonlight. 

“Oh, Marie-Louise! If you could 
only know how happy I am to be near 
[ 47 ] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


you now! I have thought of you so 
much!” And holding the lines with 
one hand, his other reached for Marie- 
Louise’s hands, which he fondly 
pressed. 

“Get up there, or we’ll run over 
you,” spoke up the gruff doctor, who 
was not used to the slow gait at which 
Victor was now satisfied to let the doc- 
tor’s horse go. 

Victor urged the horse with reluc- 
tance, saying to Marie-Louise : 

“ Don’t you wish, ma cherie, that we 
could travel to the other end of the 
world? ” 

“Yes, Victor, I do.” The few min- 
utes of silence that followed were full 
of eloquence, and as the two lovers 
looked into each other’s face there was 
an immensity of pure love in their eyes 
that words could never have expressed. 

“ Did you often think of me, Vic- 
tor?” 

“ Every hour of the day, and at night 
when my eyes closed it was to dream 
of you, ma cherie.” 

[48] 


NICOLET COLLEGE 


“I am so glad. Oh! how I missed 
you ! ” 

The tall pines of Aime Dorion’s 
farm could now be seen, like proud 
giants that held their lofty heads high 
in the soft moonlight and cast their 
shadows far into the road. Victor said: 

“ Marie-Louise, to-morrow at mass 
Monsieur le Cure wants me to sing the 
‘ Credo,’ and if I sing it well it will be 
for your sake, dear; yes, everything 
I’ll do during this vacation will be for 
you, for you alone, my dear.” 

Arrived at Victor’s home, the doctor 
and the old priest were invited in to 
have a glass of wine and “ beignes ” (as 
they call doughnuts in French), and 
Victor was told to drive the doctor’s 
horse right in under the pines. 

“ Victor! Victor! mon cher enfant, 
Victor!” cried the mother, holding in 
her arms her only son, while she kissed 
him again and again. 

Everyone was happy; the mother, 
because of her maternal love for her 
son and her pride in his success; Aime 
Dorion, because his wife and boy were 
[ 49 ] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


happy; the old priest and the doctor, 
because the wine was good. 

Marie-Louise and Victor! Well, it’s 
useless to try to express their happiness 
as they sat far apart and seemingly 
took no notice of each other. At their 
age, love is shy. 

After drinking wine and eating many 
good “ beignes,” the doctor and the old 
priest filled their pipes with Canadian 
tobacco and made ready to proceed on 
their journey, the doctor having agreed 
to take the cure along, as the presby- 
tery was not far from his home; and 
Marie-Louise had to squeeze herself 
between the two. After a last glass 
of wine and a last “ Bonsoir,” they were 
on their way to the village. 

“ Mother! I am so happy to be back 
with you,” said Marie-Louise, tenderly 
embracing her mother, who was too 
happy to speak. 

“The daughter is almost as tall as 
her mother,” spoke the cure, who had 
witnessed the touching meeting. 

“Yes, and almost as pretty,” an- 
[50] 


NICOLET COLLEGE 


swered the gallant doctor, laughing 
while lovingly looking at his wife. 

Again a few glasses of wine were 
drunk, and when the old priest got up 
to walk home there was a great deal of 
human kindness in his soul, and quite a 
numbness in his aged legs. 

Long after the doctor had been in 
bed, Marie-Louise and her mother sat 
by the window, where the full moon- 
light shone upon Marie-Louise’s face, 
bridging out all the beauty of her per- 
fect profile, and the mother was almost 
astonished at the great beauty of their 
child. 

“You’ll have two months to talk to 
each other, and it’s time you should go 
to bed,” called out the doctor, and a 
few moments later two white-robed 
figures were kneeling and fervently 
saying their prayers. The mother was 
asking the Blessed Virgin Mary to 
watch over her daughter, while the 
daughter was thanking the Almighty 
for being back home where she could 
see and speak to Victor. 

The morrow was Sunday, and when 
[51] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


Victor walked to his place in the choir 
of the little church his glance wan- 
dered to the in-coming procession of 
the faithful, and a light of satisfaction 
shone upon his face when Marie-Louise 
and her mother entered and went to 
their pew. 

When Marie-Louise saw Victor in 
his black cassock and white surplice a 
strange thought flashed through her 
mind and made her turn pale. It was 
the thought of the possibility of Vic- 
tor’s becoming a priest; and as the cruel 
idea flashed through her soul it left a 
trace of sadness. 

When the time for the singing of the 
“ Credo in Deum” came, Marie- 
Louise was intensely interested in read- 
ing her prayer-book, but as the clear 
and beautiful tenor voice of Victor 
floated in the old church’s moist atmo- 
sphere she felt a peculiar thrill go 
through her heart and she nearly 
dropped her book. At once she recog- 
nized the voice which had so often 
sung love-ballads to her while on the 
blue water of the St. Lawrence, but it 
[52] 


NICOLLET COLLEGE 


was so much stronger now and so much 
purer, and there was something that 
made her feel like. crying. Never be- 
fore had the surprised parishioners 
heard the “ Credo ” sung in such a 
manner, and during the rest of the di- 
vine service there was a nervous ex- 
citement among them never felt before. 

The intense happiness of Marie- 
Louise was marred only by the thought 
that Victor might become a priest. 
Victor’s mother was filled with that 
happiness that comes only to a mother’s 
heart when her son is the cause of it. 
But Aime Dorion! Who could de- 
scribe his feelings as he bowed his head 
to thank God for having given him 
such a son! In his soul the hope of see- 
ing him a priest was stronger than ever; 
it filled his heart with a keen hap- 
piness born of religious enthusiasm; 
and he gloried in the anticipation of 
the happy day when his son should 
wear the habit of priesthood and have 
the power of throwing open the doors 
of heaven to penitent souls whose sins 
it would be in his power to absolve. 

[ 53 ] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


After mass the old cure smiled at 
Victor while the boy was removing his 
choir costume. The minister of God 
foresaw the day when the boy would 
put on the black “ soutane ” for good, 
and he felt that he was instrumental 
in bringing about these results. Such 
thoughts were a source of pious yet 
selfish satisfaction to his loveless heart. 

Instead of driving back home with 
his father and mother, Victor told them 
that he had to go to the postoffice, and 
from there would walk home, for he 
knew that Marie-Louise was waiting 
for him at the little postoffice. The 
day was bright and the cool breeze 
from the St. Lawrence was exhilar- 
ating, and when Victor met Marie- 
Louise he was in a most happy mood; 
but as he looked into Marie’s big brown 
eyes he detected a trace of sadness, and 
said: 

“Well, ma cherie, didn’t I sing the 
‘ Credo’ well enough to please you?” 

“ Yes, Victor, you sang it better than 
I ever heard anyone sing it before; but 
[ 54 ] 


NICOLET COLLEGE 


a strange thought entered my mind 
while you were singing.” 

“What was it, ma cherie?” 

“Oh, it’s foolish, Victor, and I had 
better not tell you.” 

“ But you must. I want you to, 
Marie-Louise.” 

“ Well, it came to my mind that they, 
I mean your parents and the cure, 
might decide that you should become 
a priest,” and as she said these words 
the girl looked him straight in the eyes 
in a wondering way. 

“Oh! I guess not, unless they de- 
cide to make a nun of you, ma cherie.” 

Just then Marie-Louise picked up a 
rose-bud, and pinning it to his coat, 
she said, “Not while rose-buds bloom 
into roses will I become a nun,” and 
they both laughed. 

The vacation was a succession of 
happy days for Victor, who spent part 
of his time helping his father on the 
farm, and a greater part of it with 
Marie-Louise, to whose home he often 
went on the pretense of practicing his 
vocal music, as the doctor’s home was 
[ 55 ] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


the only one in the little village where 
an organ could be found. 

Their tender hearts grew together 
until they beat as one. Often as they 
stole among the trees, holding each 
other’s hands, the gay piping oriole in 
the pine-tops seemed to rejoice at their 
artless love. In the evenings, when 
their little boat was aimlessly drifting 
upon the quiet waters of the St. Law- 
rence, nature herself seemed to hold 
her breath, and the stars seemed to shine 
more brightly than ever. It was then 
that love, with the charming dreams 
it brings, filled their souls with hope 
for the future. It was during these 
times that Victor’s poetic nature raised 
him above his normal state and held 
Marie-Louise as if in a trance, and 
when they sang some of those homely 
but melodious old French ballads the 
broad water-lilies lay tremulously and 
the waves seemed to dance in the soft, 
radiant starlight. Their happiness 
would have been perfect had it not 
been for the gloom cast by the prospec- 
tive ending of their vacation, when they 
[56] 


NICOLET COLLEGE 


would be compelled to part for ten 
months, during which all correspond- 
ence was made impossible by the rules 
of the institutions to which they were 
going. Oh! the cruelty of it! 

When the last day of their first vaca- 
tion came they met at their favorite 
nook, a place where the waters of the 
St. Lawrence kissed the base of a huge 
rock upon which the soft green moss 
was inviting as a place of repose, and 
where the tall branches of trees reached 
down over it as if caressing it in a ten- 
der embrace. Here they met, heart to 
heart, and eye to eye ; he looking down 
into her inmost soul, while she drank 
his love words like sweet wine; and 
when they left the place Victor had 
carved in the rock, near the water line, 
the letters M. V., so deep that it is 
safe to say they are still being kissed 
by each wave that rises against them. 

After the vacation Victor went to 
Nicolet College, while Marie-Louise 
was taken to the convent in Montreal. 
As the years went by, each vacation 
brought them together at the time when 
[ 57 ] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


the flowers are in bloom, and each 
period of companionship was a repeti- 
tion of the first one, except that their 
love was more dignified, but not less 
intense or less pure. 

When Marie-Louise completed her 
studies she came home to be the joy 
of her mother and the pride of her 
father. She was as handsome as a 
woman as she had been pretty as a girl, 
and there was not a young man in the 
little village who would not have been 
her slave; but her love for Victor was 
such that she never even thought of the 
possibility of loving anyone else. 


[58I 


CHAPTER III 


DEFIES THE AUTHORITIES 

VICTOR was in the “classe des finis- 
sants,” which means the last class, or 
“ philosophy-class,” and he was consid- 
ered by the college faculty as the most 
brilliant scholar that had ever been 
within the walls of the old institution. 
As an orator he had the reputation of 
a Demosthenes, and the college de- 
pended on him to win the gold medal 
given by the bishop of Three-Rivers 
for the most eloquent speaker among 
the “ finissants ” of the two colleges, 
Nicolet and Three-Rivers. 

This oratorical contest had taken 
place for many years, and for the last 
three years the college of Three-Rivers 
had succeeded in winning the medal; 
but this year the faculty of Nicolet 
felt very confident that Victor would 
win it for his college. 

[59] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


The day for the contest was ap- 
proaching, and Victor was given the 
freedom of the college. He could go 
where he wished and do almost as he 
pleased, but win the medal he must. 
These oratorical contests were always 
considered great events. They used to 
take place in Nicolet and Three-Riv- 
ers colleges alternately, and this year 
it was to be held in Nicolet. Al- 
ready the hall in which it was to take 
place was being decorated, and a feel- 
ing of security seemed to pervade the 
very atmosphere of the college. In 
Victor the faculty and the students felt 
that they had a peerless orator, and a 
glorious victory was the foregone con- 
clusion. 

The judges were prominent men 
chosen among the laity, except the 
bishop of Three-Rivers, who was one 
of them ex-officio. 

Victor had devoted much of his time 
to the preparation of his subject, but 
had refused to give out what it was to 
be until the day before the great event, 
when the director sent for him and told 
[6a] 


DEFIES THE AUTHORITIES 

him that it was usual to inform his 
Grace the Bishop of the subject chosen. 

“ Monsieur le Directeur, my subject 
will be, 1 A plea for greater moral free- 
dom in our colleges.’ ” 

“What?” exclaimed the surprised 
director. “ Do you mean to presume 
to deliver a discourse of criticism of 
the existing laws of our educational 
institutions, by making a plea for more 
moral freedom ?” 

The director’s face grew red, while 
perspiration rolled down his forehead; 
but Victor remained perfectly cool and 
answered: “I assure you that I have 
no desire to criticise the existing laws of 
any particular college, but I will try to 
demonstrate by my arguments that 
there is room for improvement in some 
of the minor regulations. I say minor, 
because these regulations are consid- 
ered so; but I shall make an effort to 
show the extent of the sad effects that 
may result from these rules and regula- 
tions. When you so kindly gave me 
the liberty of choosing my subject, I 
studied and prayed long before I real- 
[61] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


ized that the time was ripe for such a 
plea as I shall make to-morrow. In 
years past, I know that the subjects 
chosen related to some scientific or 
philosophical ideas, but why should 
the rule of precedence be observed? 
Why not be progressive and original? 
I would rather lose the medal to-mor- 
row and feel that some good had come 
from my discourse than win it and 
know that my efforts had been barren 
in moral results. Is it not almost sacri- 
legious to use God’s gift of oratory for 
the vain purpose of simply winning a 
gold medal? Monsieur le Directeur, 
if my Creator has blessed me with the 
faculty of oratorical power I am not 
willing to prostitute it to satisfy the 
pride of anyone by using it to obtain 
a medal of metal ! If my voice is heard 
to-morrow it will be for a double pur- 
pose, and the main one is of enough 
dignity to command respect!” 

During Victor’s remarks the direc- 
tor had sunk into his big easy chair, 
and was in a state of speechless amaze- 
ment. The possibility of such a de- 
[62] 


DEFIES THE AUTHORITIES 


parture had never entered his mind, 
and he felt confident that Victor would 
follow the well-established rule in the 
choice of subject. 

“ Saque a papier! Victor, you have 
got this college in a bad box!” he ex- 
claimed. 

“ I feel confident that you will 
change your mind to-morrow,” mod- 
estly answered Victor. 

After a spell of silence the director 
asked : “ Can’t you change your sub 
ject? ” 

“ I would not if I could,” was the 
decided answer. 

“ So! Well, my boy, I will call the 
members of the faculty and we will de- 
cide what will be done about this mat- 
ter. You may go.” 

Victor walked out of the director’s 
room with a feeling of uncertainty as 
to being allowed to deliver his dis- 
course on the morrow. 

When the members of the faculty 
were informed of the facts, great was 
the surprise at Victor’s strange action, 
and after a long discussion it was de- 
[63] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


cided to send for him and ask him to 
submit to them the manuscript of his 
prepared oration. 

“ I have no notes, as I expect to de- 
liver my discourse without any to-mor- 
row,” answered Victor, when brought 
before the members of the faculty. 

It was evident that nothing could be 
done, and it was decided to await the 
result, as it was too late to substitute 
anyone else; but there was a feeling 
of great disappointment among the 
members of the faculty. 

The next day the students were sit- 
ting in the large hall where the contest 
was to take place. The college band 
was playing the national air, “Vive la 
Canadienne,” and the judges and 
priests from all parts of the diocese 
were taking their places upon the plat- 
form. Just as the music ceased the 
bishop entered the hall, escorted by the 
director to the place of honor upon the 
stage, where he raised his right hand 
to administer his episcopal blessing to 
the kneeling crowd, after which he 
spoke a few words, ending by asking 
[64] 


DEFIES THE AUTHORITIES 


the Lord’s blessing upon the two young 
men who were to deliver discourses. 
Then the director rose to introduce 
with a few well chosen words the 
young man from Three-Rivers college, 
who timidly advanced to the bishop, 
knelt down, kissed his hand, and then 
bowed to the audience and began his 
oration, “ Rising of the Catholicism.” 
It was a masterly effort, prepared with 
all the care of a person familiar with 
the rules of rhetoric. The speaker, a 
slender young man with pale face and 
sad, dark eyes, warmed up as he pro- 
ceeded, and was quite eloquent; so 
much so that at times he had to wait 
until the applause subsided. At the 
close of his oration a real thunder of 
applause echoed through the old col- 
lege walls, and the Three-Rivers dele- 
gates were in great glee, while the 
members of the Nicolet faculty were 
in deep fear as they turned their eyes 
toward Victor, who sat apparently the 
coolest of all. But the brightness of 
his blue eyes and the red spots that 
slowed in his cheeks indicated that 
[65] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


he was keenly alive to the condition of 
affairs. 

When silence was re-established, the 
director got up, and after congratulat- 
ing the preceding speaker, introduced 
Victor, whose name was greeted with 
a storm of applause from the students. 

Victor walked slowly to the front of 
the stage, where for an instant he stood 
silent, while his glance circled the audi- 
ence. Then his musical but strong 
voice was heard. From the beginning 
he spoke in a fearless way, and as he 
proceeded his voice increased in vol- 
ume and his face flushed up; his eyes 
became intensely bright and his pupils 
dilated; and as his enthusiasm grew 
it seemed to have a magnetic effect upon 
the audience. His words came from 
the soul and they went to the soul of 
every one ; and like the storm that car- 
ries everything in its way, so did the 
power of his eloquence crush, for the 
time being, at least, the religious fanati- 
cism that would have taken exception 
to less eloquent words than his. 

His courage was manifested by the 
[ 66 ] 


DEFIES THE AUTHORITIES 


very words he spoke, but his theory 
was so radical and daring that it would 
have been considered rash had it not 
been so strongly supported by the irre- 
futable arguments that carried convic- 
tion in themselves. The climax of his 
eloquence was reached when he spoke 
of the rule absolutely forbidding young 
men from writing or receiving letters 
from those they loved and had been 
obliged to part with to enter college. 

“ Our wills are crushed and broken, 
our affections are blighted and cruci- 
fied, when they should be encouraged 
and purified. The poetry of pure love 
is forbidden, and, if it persists, it has 
to live in the dark recesses of secrecy! 
Was God Almighty mistaken when he 
placed in the human heart the spark 
of that love we are taught is a sin? 
The moral freedom that permits long- 
ings and illusions is as necessary to the 
health of the soul as pure air is to the 
body’s health; still, one of the first 
things we are asked, under pretense of 
moral discipline, when we enter col- 
lege, is to renounce some of the dearest 
[67] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


dreams of our childhood. We are told 
that we must forget the sweet flowers 
picked up on the wayside to school, be- 
cause they were plucked while holding 
the hand of a companion maiden with 
whom we first learned the beauties of 
nature! 

“ I say with all the sincerity of my 
heart, all the power of my nature, and 
all the tenderness of my soul, and I 
swear by the hope I have to go to 
heaven, that I firmly believe that many 
a boy would grow into a better man 
were he given more moral freedom 
while in college. 

“ The boy who has learned to love a 
sweetheart in his native village, and 
who is forbidden to write to her or cul- 
tivate her love while in college, will 
often force his impulsive mind to im- 
agine that one of his fellow students 
has some of the characteristics of his 
sweetheart, and he will encourage the 
growth of an unhealthy and abnormal 
love that can only be compared to the 
sprouting of vegetables when left in a 
dark cellar. 


[ 68 ] 


DEFIES THE AUTHORITIES 

44 Is it not so? You, dignified and 
learned men, who have seen many 
years pass by since your schooldays, 
may not vividly remember these foolish 
and abnormal passions; but stop and 
lift the misty veil of the past, and look 
back into the first years of your school- 
time, and you will see the same mon- 
strous results, results that are the chil- 
dren of an infamous rule. Should I 
live an hundred years I could not for- 
get the cruel feeling that entered my 
heart when I first realized that the 
rules of this college would not permit 
me to write the things with which my 
heart was overflowing shortly after I 
became a student of this institution. 
This arbitrary rule cannot but be tragic 
in its consequences, and besides being 
irrational, it is despotic. 

“To those who have never felt the 
awakening of the sweet and pure love 
for a being of the opposite sex, what I 
am saying may sound like the words of 
a maniac; but to those who have been 
blessed by their Creator with the 
knowledge of love, and who have felt 
[69] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


keenly the stinging and the bruising of 
that arbitrary rule, my words will not 
be meaningless. When the sensitive 
soul is overflowing with thoughts born 
to be spoken to someone, why should 
a boy be obliged to crush them down 
into his heart for the want of more 
moral freedom? 

“ In all deep affection there is a pas- 
sion for possession which is never satis- 
fied, and there is something sacred in 
that affection because it is born of the 
mysterious spirit of love; but without 
moral freedom these deep affections are 
often thwarted, and they die when they 
could have lived in the heart like a vein 
of pure gold. Something like despair 
has overtaken many sensitive young 
men because a fatal and arbitrary regu- 
lation prevented them from cultivating 
the innocent flowers of first love that 
had taken root in their hearts while 
basking in God’s sunshine. 

“They may have cried out, not in 
insolence, but in agony of spirit; but 
their sorrows were neither under- 
go] 


DEFIES THE AUTHORITIES 


stood nor lightened; and while the 
cruel process of crowding unnatural 
theories into their hearts to the ex- 
clusiveness of the sweet dreams of 
the morning of life was carried on, 
some heart cord snapped asunder when 
the threads were soft and tender, and 
in time they learned to frown at the 
word ‘ love.’ Before narrow religious 
teachings their ideals vanished, and in- 
stead they found themselves embracing 
a pseudo-religion, the result of a mor- 
bid condition of the human heart. 

“ False to the true and true to the 
false, the fragrance of the blooming 
roses brings no dreams to their weary 
souls. When the autumn rain patters 
on the fallen leaves of their adoles- 
cence they hear nothing but the hollow 
voice of what they call their religious 
duty, because they have closed their 
hearts to the divine sun-rays of love. 
On the eve of their life, instead of the 
fruitage promised by the spring, their 
hearts hold clusters withered on the 
vine. After living a dreamless life, 
[7d 


PRIEST AND MAN 


they find themselves listening to the 
whispers of death; and when the sun 
sets beyond the misty hills they will 
sink to earth like decayed and leafless 
elms, with nothing to soften the fall 
but the hollow wind of their cold relig- 
ious philosophy. 

“ God, in his wondrous, boundless 
plan, planted love in the human heart, 
and from it blossomed hope, and from 
hope all the dreams and ideals of 
youth. The worm that crawls out of 
the sun-touched sand is truer to its 
Maker than the religious fanatic who 
wants to improve the work of Him who 
made matter pregnant with immortal 
life. Life is only a link in the endless 
chain of change; when death giveth 
the dust to the dust, the soul goes back 
to the infinite soul; but while life re- 
tains the soul in its home of clay, for 
God’s sake give the soul moral free- 
dom; let the human heart throb with 
the spirit of nature, and do not stifle 
the dreams of youth. 

“ Before closing my humble effort I 
beg his Grace, the Bishop, and my 
[72] 


DEFIES THE AUTHORITIES 


superiors, to forgive me if my expres- 
sions have been too pronounced. My 
words were dictated by my sincerity, 
and my manhood compelled me to 
speak as I did.” 

During an instant a dead silence 
reigned in the crowded hall ; then, the 
greatest outburst of applause broke out. 
It was like the sudden roar of a terrific 
storm. Boys stood on benches and cried 
out at the top of their voices while clap- 
ping their hands, and some of the 
priests found themselves affected by 
the great sympathetic wave caused by 
the brilliantly and feelingly delivered 
plea. The Bishop alone sat appar- 
ently unmoved. When order was 
restored the band played a lively air, 
and the judges held a short consulta- 
tion, resulting in their awarding the 
gold medal to Victor. In a few words 
of presentation the Bishop took occa- 
sion to state that the medal had been 
awarded to Victor more on account 
of his eloquence than for the correct- 
ness of his ideas. 

The next day. the Bishop and the 
[ 73 ] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


delegates from the other college re- 
turned to Three-Rivers, and the direc- 
tor gave the students a half holiday to 
celebrate Victor’s victory. 

Victor was now the hero of the stu- 
dents, who believed him to be the great- 
est orator that had ever lived, while 
the director and the other members of 
the faculty could hardly conceal their 
admiration for the daring young 
speaker. 

“ He will either accomplish much 
good or do much harm with his talent,” 
said one of the old priests. 

“What a powerful preacher he 
would make,” remarked another. 


[ 74 ] 


CHAPTER IV 


FATEFUL PROMISE 

It was a few weeks after this that a 
messenger came to the college in great 
haste, handed a note to the director, 
who read it and then sent for Victor. 

“ My son, you must prepare yourself 
to go home at once; your mother is 
very ill,” said the director. 

“Mon Dieu!” exclaimed the young 
man, turning pale and leaning on the 
director’s desk. 

Soon after, Victor, with tears in his 
eyes, was on his way home, urging the 
driver to go faster. 

“What is mother’s illness?” he 
asked. 

“ Bad cold on the lungs, and Doctor 
Lenoir says it may kill her.” 

Sorrow bowed the boy’s head until 
they reached home, where at the door 
he was met by his father, who told him 
[ 75 ] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


that his mother was dying, and had 
been asking for him during the last 
few hours. 

“Mother!” cried Victor, bending 
over the wasted form of the dying 
woman, who painfully raised her 
arms and placed them around her only 
son’s head, while her parched and fev- 
erish lips kissed his forehead. 

“Victor! Victor! my good son Vic- 
tor, I’ll die happy now that God 
brought you to me.” 

“Mother, don’t speak that way; 
don’t say you will die; no, no, it cannot 
be! You must not die; we can’t spare 
you, mother; no, don’t go. Say you 
will not! God is too good to take you 
away from us!” and kneeling by her 
bed, Victor was the picture of despair, 
while his heart was pierced by the cruel 
agony that can be imagined only by one 
who has seen his mother die. 

“ Don’t cry, my boy; it is God’s will, 
and I shall die happy if you will prom- 
ise me one thing, Victor — promise me 

— that ” She had spoken too 

much, and her breath was so rapid 
[76] 


FATEFUL PROMISE 


that she could say no more for a few 
minutes; then taking her son’s hands 
in hers, and looking him in the eyes, 
she spoke again. 

“ Victor, you will promise me before 
I die, will you, my son?” 

“ Mother — I will promise you any- 
thing.” 

“Thank God! Victor, promise me 
to become a priest.” 

“I become a priest, mother!” cried 
the son in fearful agony. 

“Yes; promise me that, my boy; be- 
cause when you were a baby your 
father and I promised to God that you 
would be a priest; and we could never 
enter heaven unless our promise is 
fulfilled.” 

“Oh, mother! mother!” 

“ Promise, my son. Let me die 
happy — it is the last request of your 
dying mother,” and, exhausted by the 
strain of the conversation, she closed 
her eyes. A deathlike pallor came over 
her face, while beads of cold sweat 
formed upon her forehead, and Vic- 
tor thought that his mother was dead. 

[ 77 ] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


But again she opened her eyes and her 
glance slowly rose to his face. It was 
such a pleading light that shone in her 
eyes, while she whispered her request 
again, that Victor could not resist it, 
and bending over her he said: 

“ Mother, I promise you to be a 
priest.” 

A happy smile played over her 
pinched face, and with feeble and 
trembling hands she reached for a small 
crucifix while with her eyes she made 
Victor understand that she wanted him 
to pledge himself by solemnly kissing 
the brass image of crucified Christ. 
Victor’s lips were still upon the cold 
metal when his mother gasped her last 
breath, dying with a happy smile upon 
her face, a smile brought by the terrible 
religious fanaticism that knows no 
limit in its demands. The cold, glassy 
eyes of the dead woman seemed to be 
staring at Victor’s face as he stood near 
the bed, broken-hearted by the loss of 
his mother and stunned by his great 
sacrifice to religion. 

Three days later Victor with his 
[78] 


FATEFUL PROMISE 


father and friends of the family fol- 
lowed the remains of his mother to the 
little village church where the last rites 
of the Catholic religion were per- 
formed. The windows of the church 
were decorated with black crepe, and 
had it not been for the light from the 
tallow candles it would have been ab- 
solutely dark. The flickering rays from 
the candles were just sufficient to give 
the funeral scene a weird and uncanny 
air. At the end of the service, when 
the “ Libera ” was intoned and when 
the old priest sprinkled the coffin with 
holy water, some of the lights flickered 
and went out. And when the priest 
said the last “ Requiescat in pace,” 
there were only a few short candles 
burning. 

The service over, the coffin was car- 
ried to the prepared grave in the ceme- 
tery, where it was lowered with ropes 
that stretched under the strain. Fol- 
lowing the custom of the time, parents 
and friends picked up small pieces of 
frozen ground and dropped them upon 
the coffin. As Victor stood back of the 
little crowd, hearing the sound of the 
[79] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


frozen pieces of soil as they fell on his 
mother’s coffin, he wished that they 
were falling on his own, so great was 
his sorrow and despair. 

After a sleepless night, as the first 
rays of the sun shone through the tall, 
leafless trees into his room, Victor 
wrote the following words to the girl 
who was anxiously expecting to see him 
on that day: 

“ Marie-Louise: 

“ My heart is broken and my soul is 
mine no more. At the request of my 
dying mother I promised to become a 
priest. The love that we both nursed 
since our childhood I must now forget, 
if I can. The hopes that we cherished 
will not materialize and the dreamed- 
of sunshine of the future has been 
changed into the deep darkness of de- 
spair. Instead of wedding my beloved, 
I shall be wedded to the church; but, 
Marie-Louise, soul of my soul, don’t 
blame me; pity me. How could I re- 
fuse the last imploring request of my 
mother? Think of it; with my lips 
[80] 


FATEFUL PROMISE 


upon the crucifix, I sealed the fate of 
my life! Before I had time to realize 
the immensity of the sacrifice I was 
compelled to make, the warmth of life 
had left her. The cruelty of the deed 
dawned upon my soul, but it was too 
late — too late — Marie-Louise; I could 
not ask her to let me take back my 
promise. Pity me. Yes, and pray for 
me, Marie-Louise! You, also, will suf- 
fer, I know; but while I wander 
through the narrow path of priest- 
hood’s life, like a lost soul, you can at 
least travel over the road of our child- 
hood days where love placed flowers 
on the wayside; you can pluck some 
roses as we did in former years; and 
you can, in remembrance, live over 
those happy days. But think of me! I 
shall have to fight the very remem- 
brance of those happy days. Will your 
image, so deeply engraved in my heart, 
ever vanish? No! Marie-Louise; 
when God placed the love of you in 
my soul would he condemn me be- 
cause it remained there? I shall try 
to be a good priest, but I swear to you, 

Pi] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


Marie-Louise, that when I die the 
only flower of love that ever took root 
in my heart shall still be there! It will 
be there in all its purity, and if the 
doors of Paradise were to be closed to 
me on account of it, Marie-Louise, I 
would cheerfully go down to hell! 
Great God ! what about you ? Will you 
love someone else? Oh! the torture of 
that thought! No — you will not! You 
will not love anyone else as you love 
me, will you, Marie-Louise? Do you 
remember that day you said that if I 
ever became a priest you would be- 
come a nun? Forgive me for recalling 
such a thing to you. I have no right 
to cast the shadow of my misfortune 
over your life, and I should ask you to 
forget me — but how can I? No — don’t 
forget me — don’t! 

“My reason weakens; I must write 
no more. Forgive my weakness; I am 
only human. Goodrby. I will let my 
tears fall upon the bottom of this page, 
so that yours will mingle with mine, 
and I will kiss this space, kiss it with 
the despair of a man who knows he is 

[82] 


FATEFUL PROMISE 


sinking for the last time; kiss it, that 
your lips may touch where mine have! 

“ God bless you, Marie-Louise. Re- 
member me in your prayers. 

“ Victor " 

Upon his return to college Victor 
immediately went to the director and 
informed him of the promise made to 
his mother. 

“ The last words of your mother were 
certainly dictated to her by Divine 
Providence,” said the director. “ May 
God Almighty help you to become 
worthy of the holy office which you 
will enter, and may the talents you pos- 
sess be used to the best interest of our 
holy religion. From this time you 
must exert yourself to banish from 
your heart all earthly sentiments, and 
to facilitate the bringing about of that 
condition you will enter ‘ en retraite ’ 
to-morrow morning for a period of two 
weeks, spending your time in prayers 
and pious readings.” 

When Victor with bowed head 
walked out of the director’s room the 
[83] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


old priest added these words: “ Be 
courageous, my son ; don’t let Satan dis- 
turb your peace of mind. Should you 
feel weakness enter your soul, come to 
me.” 

Victor went directly to the chapel, 
walking like a man who carries too 
heavy a burden. After dipping his 
fingers in the holy water and crossing 
himself, 11 in nomine Patri et Filio et 
Spiritu Sancto, Amen,” he walked to 
the central altar and knelt down, be- 
ginning his prayer by saying “Veni, 
Sancte Spiritus, et emitte coelitus lucis 
tuae radium,” an imploration for light 
from the Holy Spirit. 

After praying a long while, he felt 
the soothing influence that could be 
brought only by religious fervor, and 
as he looked up to the image of Christ 
upon the Cross, above the altar, the 
painful but sweet expression of the Sa- 
viour’s face impressed him more than 
ever before. When he left the chapel 
he was almost satisfied to make his sac- 
rifice for Christ’s sake. A strange con- 
version was taking place in his dis- 
[84] 


FATEFUL PROMISE 


turbed mind; and the characteristic 
energy of his nature asserted itself by 
grasping the opportunity offered by 
religion to find peace in making his 
sacrifice. 


[85] 


CHAPTER V 


DR. LENOIR'S TRAGIC DEATH 

VICTOR'S letter was handed to Marie- 
Louise by her father, and recognizing 
the writing, she went up to her room to 
read it in solitude, while the old doctor 
sat in his office reading the papers. 

Suddenly the heavy thud of a body 
falling on the floor caused the doctor to 
drop his papers and run up-stairs to the 
room from which the noise came, call- 
ing “ Marie-Louise! Marie-Louise! ” 
but no answer came. When the doctor 
entered the room he found her, insensi- 
ble on the floor, and holding in her 
hands Victor’s letter. In a few mo- 
ments the doctor had restored her, and 
had laid her on her bed, while her 
mother was bathing her face with cold 
water. 

“What’s the matter, child?” asked 
the father, bending over his daughter 
[ 86 ] 


DR. LENOIR’S TRAGIC DEATH 


and seeing tears flowing from her eyes. 

“ Oh! Papa! Papa! Read this! ” and 
she gave him the letter. 

After reading it, the doctor ex- 
claimed: “The poor fellow! they 
have filled him with religion until he 
is a damned fool! ” 

“ But I love him so much — so much, 
father! ” 

“Never mind, child; I will go and 
see Monsieur le Cure, and I will have 
him go to Nicolet and undo that infer- 
nal scheme to compel him to be a 
priest! It’s the greatest outrage I have 
ever heard of. Why, Victor’s mother 
was nothing but a religious maniac 
when she died, and the cure knows it, 
too. I will go and see him right now. 
Console yourself, my girl, your father 
will arrange this matter,” and the old 
doctor started to call on the old cure. 

The life of Dr. Lenoir had been 
made up of earnest, studious, useful 
years, bestowed faithfully for the re- 
lief of the sick; and while of a quick 
temper, and possessing religious ideas 
that conflicted with those of the times, 
[87] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


he was thoughtful for others, craving 
little for himself. He was above the 
superstition common to those around 
him, but he now felt that its influence 
was dwelling upon his child like a 
curse, and the unfortunate father real- 
ized that the terrible condition had 
been brought about by the old priest 
whom he was on his way to see. He 
knew that it was still possible for 
Father Morin to rescue Victor from 
the miserable fate he had been led to, 
but being aware how deeply imbued 
was the old cure with false religious 
ideas he felt that he might not succeed 
in overcoming that subtle and fanatical 
determination to have Victor become a 
priest. As he was nearing the cure’s 
home the possibilities of failing in his 
errand seemed to increase, and he felt 
as if his soul were on fire; and when at 
the cure’s door, the fire was smoulder- 
ing in his breast. After entering, his 
emotion was so great that for an instant 
he stood without saying a word, before 
the priest. 


[ 88 ] 


DR. LENOIR’S TRAGIC DEATH 

“ What’s the matter? ” asked the sur- 
prised old priest. 

“Matter! There’s lots the matter! 
There has been some infernal work 
going on lately, and I have come to see 
if you will do something to restore 
things as they should be.” 

“What do you mean, Doctor?” 

“ I mean that a young man’s life is 
likely to be ruined by the foolish fanati- 
cism of a woman crazed by religion, 
who, before dying, made her son prom- 
ise to become a priest, and the victim is 
Victor Dorion, my daughter’s fiance!” 

“ Doctor — Doctor — I am surprised 
to hear you speak in such a disrespect- 
ful manner about God’s will. It was 
indeed by an act of the Divine Provi- 
dence that the life of Victor’s mother 
was spared until he arrived, so that she 
could make him promise to fulfill 
God’s will; and nothing in the world 
would save him from eternal damna- 
tion if he should not be true to the 
pledge made to his dying mother.” 

“ His dying mother was only a re-i 
ligious maniac,” said the doctor trem- 
[89] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


blingly, and hardly able to control his 
temper, “ and what right had she — and 
have you — to compel Victor to follow 
a vocation that is not his? Why don’t 
you let him be true to his nature? Why 
don’t you go to him and tell him that 
the promise to his mother is not bind- 
ing and that it is for him to decide what 
his vocation shall be?” 

“ As a minister of God, it is my duty 
to help him to enter the sacred order of 
priesthood, and notwithstanding what 
you may say, I will do my duty, Doctor 
Lenoir.” 

“ Damn your duty! You don’t know 
what your duty is,” answered the doc- 
tor, losing his temper. 

“What’s that! You are blasphem- 
ing! Be careful, Doctor Lenoir! Re- 
member that I am one of God’s repre- 
sentatives, and who insults me insults 
Him!” 

“You? God’s representative! Your 
actions lead one to believe that it would 
be more truthful if you said, 1 Satan’s 
representative.’ ” 

“Get out of my place! Get out 


DR. LENOIR’S TRAGIC DEATH 


quick, before God strikes you dead in 
punishment for your sacrilegious talk.” 

“ I will get out, but if you, old fool, 
will not have the manhood to go and 
rescue Victor from the terrible danger 
you have helped to place him in, I will 
go myself. I will go and tell him that 
his poor mother was the victim of ex- 
cessive religious enthusiam and an un- 
balanced believer in your barbaric 
teachings. I will tell him that her last 
words were suggested by such misera- 
ble fanatics as you are,” and, as the doc- 
tor walked out, the priest said piously: 

“ God have mercy on your soul ! ” 

“ Pray for your own soul — mine is in 
no danger,” were the doctor’s last 
words as he left the presbytery. 

Arrived at his home, he informed his 
wife and daughter that he was going to 
Nicolet at once. 

Always a hard driver, still never be- 
fore had the old doctor driven his horse 
so fast as while going to Nicolet that 
day; and when he arrived at the col- 
lege the harness could hardly be seen 
[9d 


PRIEST AND MAN 


so thick was the foam on his faithful 
animal. 

After ringing two or three times in 
quick succession, the door of the col- 
lege was opened by a sleepy door- 
keeper, who asked the doctor to step 
into the “ parloir.” 

“ I want to see Victor Dorion right 
away,” said the doctor, but he was in- 
formed that he would have to see the 
director first and from him obtain per- 
mission. 

“Well, tell the director that I want 
to see him at once.” 

After waiting quite a while, the di- 
rector came in, and was surprised at the 
strange expression of the doctor’s face, 
whom he knew well, as they had been 
classmates. 

“What’s the matter, Dr. Lenoir?” 
asked the priest. 

“ I must see Victor Dorion at once.” 

“ Is his father sick? ” 

“No, but I want to see him for pri- 
vate reasons.” 

“ I am very sorry, Doctor, but Victor 
is 1 en retraite,’ and no one is allowed to 
[92] 


DR. LENOIR’S TRAGIC DEATH 

speak to him; such are the rules of this 
institution, as you must know.” 

“To hell with the rules of this insti- 
tution! I want to see Victor Dorion 
at once.” 

“You will not see Victor Dorion, 
Doctor, and I am surprised at your way 
of talking.” 

“Never mind my way talking; it is 
important that I should at once talk to 
Victor.” 

“Unless you state reasons of enough 
importance to permit the breaking of 
our regulations, you will certainly not 
see him.” 

“Well, if you must know, he is the 
victim of an infernal plot to compel 
him to become a priest, and I want to 
open his eyes. I want to tell him that 
as a physician I can certify that his 
mother was not responsible for her ac- 
tions when she made him promise to 
become a priest. I want to save him 
from a life of disgrace and misery. I 
know that he was not born to be a 
priest. He was engaged to my daugh- 
ter. Do you understand now?” 

[93] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


“You will certainly not see Victor 
Dorion,” answered the director in a de- 
cided manner. 

“ Oh! You will not let me speak to 
him, eh? Well, you will be sorry for 
this some day; remember what I say!” 
Convinced that he would not be al- 
lowed to see Victor, Dr. Lenoir left the 
college to return home, disgusted and 
swearing at the state of ignorance that 
permitted such outrages to take place 
in the name of Christianity. 

“ The fools would not let me see Vic- 
tor,” was all he said to his wife and 
Marie-Louise. 

From this time Dr. Lenoir was 
never seen inside the little Catholic 
church; but strange as it may seem he 
had no objection to his wife and daugh- 
ter going to church, and even to con- 
fession. 

“ Pray for the conversion of your 
husband,” said the old cure to the doc- 
tor’s wife; to Marie-Louise he advised 
resignation to God’s will. The poor 
broken-hearted girl became reconciled 
to her unfortunate fate, and under the 
[94] 


DR. LENOIR'S TRAGIC DEATH 


guidance of her spiritual adviser she 
decided to enter a convent for life. 

When Dr. Lenoir was informed by 
his wife of Marie-Louise’s intention to 
become a nun, he flew into uncontrolla- 
ble rage and paced the floor, cursing 
the village priest and priesthood in 
general; and then he broke down and 
cried like a child. 

“No — no; never will I consent to 
have my only child imprisoned for life 
in a convent;” he said; and he called 
Louise, who came and knelt at his feet, 
resting her head upon his knees. 

“ Leelie,” he called her, as he used to 
when she was a little girl, tenderly rub- 
bing her hair, “ Leelie, you will not go 
away from your old father, will you, 
child? Look at my white hair. See 
how old I am getting, and when I need 
you so much, you, my sunshine, you, 
my only child, will you abandon me? 
Can’t the last days of my life be lived 
with you near me? What have I done 
to bring upon me such misfortune? No, 
Louise; you’ll not go ;nto a convent 
while your father is alive, say you will 
[ 95 ] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


not,” and with a tenderness that no one 
would have supposed him to be capable 
of, he held his daughter’s face in his 
hands while pleadingly looking into 
her eyes. 

“Oh! Father! Father! Why should 
we be so unhappy? ” 

“Why?” he repeated. “Why? Be- 
cause,, we are the victims of religious 
fanaticism. The religion we are taught 
is not Christ’s religion; it is only a poor 
imitation of it, and instead of bringing 
happiness and satisfaction it brings 
misery and misfortune. The true Cath- 
olic religion is good, but it is in the 
hands of pirates, my child; and instead 
of striving to enlighten us, they lead 
us into darkness. God said: ‘ Love one 
another,’ but these peddlers of religion 
tell us that it is a sin. Was there ever 
a purer love than your’s and Victor’s? 
Still, they made the poor innocent boy 
believe that he must sacrifice his love to 
enter their ranks, and now they are try- 
ing to have you abandon your father 
and mother, after breaking your poor 
heart. Is that Christianity? If it is, 

[96] 


DR. LENOIR’S TRAGIC DEATH 

I don’t want to be a Christian.” He 
would have said more, but his hands 
dropped limp upon his knees and his 
head fell forward. He was uncon- 
scious, and would have fallen to the 
floor had not Marie-Louise held him 
up. 

“Father! Father!” she said, “wake 
up ! Look at me ! I am Leelie ! I will 
stay with you — yes, I promise it! Oh! 
Father! speak! speak!” 

Just then he opened his eyes, and 
pointing with his trembling hand to his 
heart, he said, “ I am dying, Louise, 
kiss me — and promise me that you will 
never enter a convent.” 

“ Papa! Father! Don’t die — I prom- 
ise you that I will not go to a convent; 
no, never, never! ” 

As a strange smile of satisfaction 
came over his face he whispered, “ Lee- 
lie, thank you — my child — kiss me 
good-by.” 

She kissed him, but his lips were al- 
ready growing cold and death had 
claimed the life of a noble man. 

When the old parish priest, who had 
[ 97 ] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


been sent for by the doctor’s wife, ar- 
rived, the doctor had been dead many 
minutes. In his death the old priest 
saw the punishment of the Divine 
Providence, and later refused to let 
the body be interred in the Catholic 
cemetery, claiming that Doctor Lenoir 
had died an infidel. 

The remains of Dr. Lenoir, who had 
spent his life doing good in the little 
parish, were buried in the space of land 
reserved for children dead without 
baptism, or persons who died outside of 
the folds of the Catholic religion. 

The memory of his good deeds was 
blighted by the weird belief that his 
soul was damned, and his sterling 
qualities were forgotten amid the rush 
of adverse religious influences. Only a 
few among these people felt their 
hearts throbbing in sympathy with the 
spirit that pervaded the remembrance 
of that staunch man. 

From this time Marie-Louise and 
her mother lived a life of seclusion, go- 
ing through life with the stigma left by 
the tragic death of the doctor, who was 
[98] 


DR. LENOIR’S TRAGIC DEATH 


buried without a religious ceremony 
and whose soul was supposed to be 
damned for all eternity. 


CHAPTER VI 


KEEPING HIS VOW 

Victor was ignorant of the cause of 
the doctor’s death, but a great sorrow 
entered his soul when he was informed 
of it, and every day part of his prayers 
were offered for the repose of the soul 
of Marie-Louise’s father. 

His “ retraite ” was over, and he had 
reached that stage of religious enthusi- 
asm when one is almost glad to suffer 
any sorrow and make any sacrifice for 
the sake of his faith. While his whole 
being was still imbued with the sadness 
of the past events like the germs of 
some malignant disease that lurk in 
one’s system even after proper anti- 
dotes have been taken, still he was more 
resigned to his faith; and the priests of 
the institution were satisfied that a 
change was taking place in his nature. 

At the end of the school year, when 

[ioo] 


KEEPING HIS VOW 


all the students were enjoying the hap- 
piness of entering upon their vacation, 
Victor was requested by his director to 
remain in the college and take the habit 
of priesthood, the black robe called 
“ soutane.” 

A more magnificent specimen of 
manhood had never worn the black 
garment of priesthood; the beauty of 
his face had never appeared to better 
advantage; and when he entered the 
director’s room the old priest could not 
help but admire him. 

“ My son,” said the director, “ it will 
be within your power to accomplish 
much good in your chosen profession, 
and may God assist you and keep you in 
the right road.” 

“ I will do my best, Monsieur le Di- 
recteur,” answered the young ecclesiast. 

The days of his novitiate were un- 
eventful, except that the continual con- 
flict was going on between his sense of 
religious duty and his love for Marie- 
Louise; but under the circumstances 
religion seemed to have the best of the 
contest, because in moments of temp- 
[ioi] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


tation he had recourse to prayer with 
effectual results. 

At one time he was seriously think- 
ing of entering a monastery to become 
a monk, hoping that the rigidity of the 
rules of such orders might prevent these 
spells of longing to see Marie-Louise. 
But unconsciously the thought that then 
he would never have a chance to look 
upon her face prevented him from 
carrying out that idea, and he termi- 
nated his novitiate in the institution in 
which he had commenced his great 
sacrifice. 

He had gone through the “sous- 
diaconat,” the “ acolytat,” the “ exorcis- 
tat,” and the “ ostirariatus,” these being 
the minor orders preparatory to enter- 
ing priesthood, and the time for his 
ordination had arrived. 

The ceremony of ordaining is always 
impressive, but when Victor was or- 
dained it seemed that there was more 
pomp than ever displayed in the col- 
lege of Nicolet at such ceremonies. 
The little chapel was brightly deco- 
rated, and when the Bishop, in all the 
[102] 


KEEPING HIS VOW 


splendor of his pompous robes, adorned 
with golden trimmings, entered, ac- 
companied by many priests, the scene 
was remindful of the days of Louis 
XVI when the court costumes were 
marvelous and gorgeous. 

The many details of the ceremony 
kept Victor in a state of religious en- 
thusiasm such as can be compared to 
a vivid dream, and when the words 
“ Quorum remiseritis peccata ” reached 
his ears and made him realize that what 
was going on was no dream, and that 
he was given the power to bestow the 
pardon of sins, and invested with all 
the powers of priesthood, he felt a ter- 
rible pain at his heart, while his whole 
body became covered by a cold sweat. 
For an instant he shook as if suffering 
from a spell of ague, and at that mo- 
ment the picture of Marie-Louise was 
so intensely vivid in his soul that he 
could think of nothing else but of the 
girl he had no more right to love. 

“ Dominus vobiscum,” sang out the 
Bishop, facing the kneeling crowd, 
which rose and answered, “ Et cum 
[103] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


Spiritu tuo,” but Victor alone re- 
mained on his knees until the priest 
next to him touched him on the shoul- 
der. Then, as if recovering from a 
spell, he rose and joined the religious 
singing, and his thoughts of Marie- 
Louise were lost for a while in his re- 
ligious ardor. 

After the ceremony his old father 
was waiting at the chapel door, anxious 
to hold in his own the hand of his son 
now a priest. When Victor appeared, 
so great was the old man’s joy that tears 
of happiness blurred his view, and he 
could not speak while grasping his 
son’s hand. The old parish cure, a 
mere tottering old man in his second 
infancy, joined them and said: “ If his 
poor mother were alive, how happy she 
would be! ” 

“ If she were alive, would I be a 
priest?” thought Victor. 


CHAPTER VII 


TEMPTATIONS 

VICTOR was given the Professorship 
of Philosophy, and was made one of 
the college faculty. 

While enjoying the freedom given to 
the priests of such an institution, Victor 
was surprised and almost demoralized 
to find that the low burning fire of his 
love for Marie-Louise was reviving in 
spite of all efforts to the contrary, and 
in despair he decided to consult the di- 
rector about his moral condition. 

The kind old priest after listening to 
him, said: 

“ It is the temptation of Satan, my 
son. Do not let it worry you, but pray. 
The spirit is strong, but the flesh is 
weak. You will find moral tranquillity 
if you chastise your flesh. Fast and 
pray, and Satan will retreat, and if once 
he sees that he cannot afflict you any 
[105] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


longer he will give up, and you will 
have conquered the flesh. You are not 
the first one, my son, who has been sub- 
jected to these attacks of Satan shortly 
after entering the holy order of priest- 
hood; but the harder the fight, the 
greater the victory. Go in peace, my 
son, and pray the Holy Virgin to keep 
your soul pure and free from tempta- 
tion, and ask your guardian angel to 
keep away from you the evil thoughts 
that might again disturb your peace of 
mind and heart.” 

The assurance of the dignified old 
man who spoke such kind words made 
the young priest hope for better days, 
and following the director’s advice he 
decided upon a systematic course of 
fasting and chastisement of his flesh. 
When after that the picture of Marie- 
Louise faintly came to his mind he 
went to his room, where he prayed fer- 
vently, and after removing his clothes 
he would, upon the bare flesh of his 
body, lash himself with a “cordon de 
St. Joseph” until red ridges stood out 
and blood ran down in big drops. 

[i°6] 


TEMPTATIONS 


This barbarous treatment, combined 
with days of entire fasting, brought the 
young priest to a point of weakness so 
great that it was noticeable. But 
strange as it may appear, the weaker his 
body became the stronger his thoughts 
of Marie-Louise took hold of his soul, 
and when exhausted from these terri- 
ble ordeals he often found himself ly- 
ing on the bare floor of his room filled 
with strange happiness born of intense 
love. Once after a most terrible pun- 
ishment he passed into a state of semi- 
delirium, out of which he came hold- 
ing the picture of the Holy Virgin, 
kissing it and calling it Marie-Louise. 

When at night he was awakened by 
the sores on his body, they seemed to re- 
mind him of the very person he wanted 
to forget. At last Victor Dorion, the 
young priest, came to the conclusion 
that his mind would not stand the strain 
of such a struggle, and a complete 
change took place in his life. He 
ceased to chastise his body, and ear- 
nestly as he had fought against his love 
for Marie-Louise, so eagerly he now 
[107] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


nursed and encouraged it, and again 
he let her voice come to him in the 
silence of the night, and her smile shine 
brightly in his soul. In his lonely heart 
she took back her place as of old, and 
from this time Victor lived a double 
life. 

At the altar, robed in white surplice 
and the gilded robes of priesthood, he 
was the pious minister of God, per- 
forming the religious rites of the Cath- 
olic religion, with power to change 
wine into the blood of Christ. In the 
pulpit, he was the eloquent preacher, 
whose words carried conviction to those 
who heard him. But at other times, 
when in the solitude of his room, or 
when wandering through the forest of 
tall pines back of the college, Victor 
was again the lover and dreamer into 
whose eyes the love-light came and 
went. The power of religion had failed 
to vanquish the love that came to his 
heart in the spring-time of his life, and, 
victim of an unkind fate, he found 
satisfaction in the remembrance of the 

[joB] 


TEMPTATIONS 


days when life was made more beauti- 
ful by the hope of love. 

In his lonely heart lingered the sweet 
fragrance of the flowers, tokens of love, 
that Marie-Louise had so often given 
him, and like a lover of nature who 
had lost his sight but still remembers 
her beauties, so Victor enjoyed the 
memory of the love that had filled his 
soul, and often he pressed his lips upon 
roses in memory of her. The teachings 
of theology were things that reached 
only his brain, but made no impression 
upon his heart. Oftentimes, while 
reading his breviary in the shade of 
some big oak tree, the Latin book was 
dropped upon his knees while his mind 
wandered back to the days when on the 
shores of the St. Lawrence he sat under 
the trees with Marie-Louise. 

The intense religious fervor that fol- 
lowed his ordination had slowly sub- 
sided and given place to a reaction such 
as usually follows forced and imposed 
emotion. As months and years passed 
by a feeling of doubt crept into his 
mind as to the right of religion to inter- 
[109] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


fere with the laws of nature, and each 
time that he went to his native village 
where he chanced to see the sad-faced 
girl of his heart — a martyr to her first 
love — dressed in black and bowed un- 
der the grief of her misfortune, he 
came back to the college with a feel- 
ing akin to hatred for a religion that 
permitted such sacrifice to its fanati- 
cism. Whenever he was called upon to 
preach his sermons lacked the intoler- 
ance of the teachings of those days, and 
were remarkable for their charitable 
utterances, so much so that he was 
more than once reprimanded by his su- 
periors. 

It had been more than five years 
since Victor had entered the order of 
priesthood, and these years had been 
lived in a state of perpetual struggle 
between love and duty. While to all 
appearances he had been a good priest, 
still he was convinced that his voca- 
tion had been a failure. But what 
could he do? ” 

About this time a letter from his old 
[iio] 


TEMPTATIONS 


friend Louis Pichette, who had gradu- 
ated in medicine, informed him that he 
had bought old Doctor Lenoir’s office 
with the purpose of locating in Victor’s 
native village. In the letter the young 
doctor wrote, “ I have already taken 
possession of the old doctor’s books and 
instruments and I wish I could also 
take possession of his daughter, Marie- 
Louise, who is a shy bird. I am afraid 
that she is too good for any such fellow 
as I, but I am going to be nice to her 
mother, and if I win the affection of 
the old lady I may in time succeed in 
winning the daughter. Say, by the 
way, you used to know her, did you 
not? Tell me, don’t you think she 
would make a good wife? ” 

After reading this letter Victor felt' 
a strange heat creeping to his head; and 
clenching his fists, he gritted his teeth 
in a way that meant much. 

“ Great God! My old friend Louis 
loves her! Oh, no! I can’t stand this 
— it’s too much!” 

A few days later Victor went to the 
director and informed him that he had 
[in] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


decided to accept the offer which had 
been made him, namely, to go and take 
the place of the old cure in his native 
village. 

“Very well, I am glad you have 
made up your mind to go and take the 
place of your old protector and friend, 
who will be glad to see his parish in 
your hands. The parish is a rich one, 
and I am surprised at your hesitation 
about accepting it. We shall be sorry 
here to lose you, but we must submit to 
the will of Providence.” 

Shortly after this the young priest 
arrived in his native village to take the 
place of the old parish priest, who had 
reached such a state of senile feebleness 
as to render him altogether unfit to act 
longer as cure. When Victor came to 
him the old priest said, with tears in 
his eyes : 

“ Thank God for sending you to take 
my place, and may you faithfully do 
your duty.” 

The young priest sat limply in the 
chair facing the old cure, but he was 
thinking so intensely of other things be- 
[112] 


TEMPTATIONS 


sides the duties of his new position that 
he hardly realized what the old priest 
was saying. 

One of the first to call on the new 
cure was Dr. Pichette, who was sur- 
prised at the cold and dignified way in 
which he was received; but he attrib- 
uted this change of manners on the part 
of his college chum to the fact that dig- 
nity is a necessity to priesthood. 

On the following Sunday Victor offi- 
ciated at high mass. When the old 
cure painfully ascended to the pulpit to 
address his parishioners for the last 
time and bid them a last farewell, an 
atmosphere of sorrow seemed to per- 
vade the little church, and many shed 
tears when the old priest gave the last 
blessing. 

“No more will you hear my feeble 
voice — no more will I baptize your 
children — no more will I marry your 
sons and daughters. But, in my place, 
God sent you a young priest, child of 
this village, and my favorite 1 protege.’ 
Obey him as you have me, and we shall 
all meet in heaven. Such is the most 
[i 13] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


earnest wish of your old cure. In no- 
mine Patri et Filio et Spiritu Sancto, 
Amen.” 

The next day the old cure took his 
departure to go and live the rest of his 
days in a hospital for old and feeble 
priests, and Victor was the cure of his 
native village. 

Aime Dorion, old and deaf, had 
been confined to his home for a long 
time by senile debility, but he found 
enough energy to get up and insist upon 
being driven to the presbytery where, 
with all the satisfied pride of his nar- 
row soul, he fully enjoyed the mellow 
happiness of seeing his son ’the parish- 
priest of his village. As he sat looking 
at the pale, care-worn face of his son 
a great feeling of thankfulness came 
on his soul, and falling upon his knees 
the old man thanked God for having 
fulfilled his wish, confident that the 
doors of heaven would be thrown open 
for him when he passed away from this 
world. 

When Aime Dorion went back to his 
home it was for the last time. The 
[”4l 


TEMPTATIONS 


strain caused by his trip to the presby- 
tery had been too much for his worn- 
out body and he was compelled to go 
to bed. Next day his condition was 
such that Dr. Pichette was sent for and 
the medical man found that Victor’s 
father had not long to live, and advised 
that the priest be sent for at once. 

When Victor arrived he was sur- 
prised at the deathlike appearance of 
his father, to whom he could not speak, 
as the old man’s deafness was such that 
it was impossible to make him hear. 
The young priest wrote a few words 
upon a piece of paper, warning his 
father of his dangerous state, and when 
the old man read them a strange ex- 
pression came over his yellow face. 
The expression was one of mingled sor- 
row and satisfaction. It meant that he 
was sorry to die when he could have so 
much enjoyed seeing his son in priest- 
hood, and it also meant that he was al- 
most satisfied to die, because of a feel- 
ing of certainty as to his salvation, 
knowing that his son would, as a priest, 
[n 5 [ 


PRIEST AND MAN 


administer to him all the necessary rites 
provided by his religion. 

“ I want to confess my sins before I 
die,” spoke up the old man, and Victor, 
the priest, was compelled to listen to the 
confession of his father. A strange 
sight it was to see the father calling his 
son “ Father,” but in the Catholic 
Church the confessor is always called 
“ Father.” When Aime Dorion’s con- 
fession was concluded a cold sweat 
covered his face, and the gloss of his 
eyes indicated that the supreme mo- 
ment was not far, while his son admin- 
istered the last sacraments. 

Death came while the young priest 
was reciting the litanies of the dying, 
and after closing the eyes of his dead 
father Victor left the remains in 
charge of friends. 

Having returned to the presbytery, 
Victor was surprised at the almost in- 
different state in which he found him- 
self after witnessing his father’s death. 
He felt none of the bitter sorrow which 
he had so keenly experienced at his 
mother’s death; and later when the 
[n6] 


TEMPTATIONS 


time came to officiate at his father’s 
funeral service in the little church, he 
acted more as if officiating at a strang- 
er’s funeral than at his own father’s; 
and more than once his glance wan- 
dered from the black cloth-covered 
coffin to the kneeling form of a woman, 
whom he remembered having seen once 
before in the same attitude at his moth- 
er’s funeral. 

A few weeks after the funeral of 
Aime Dorion the people of the little 
village began to whisper about having 
heard noises in the old homestead of 
the Dorions, which had been closed 
since the old man’s death. The rumor 
that the house was haunted was soon 
common gossip, intensified by the su- 
perstition of the times, and when one 
night a light was seen in the old house 
it left no doubt in the minds of these 
ignorant people that the house was in- 
deed visited by supernatural beings, 
and those who drove by at night hur- 
ried and crossed themselves. Why 
should the house be haunted? No one 
[J17] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


seemed to know, but that such was the 
case they had no doubt. 

When these rumors reached the 
young priest he could not help but 
smile as he realized that he had been 
unknowingly the cause of these rumors 
by often going after dark into his 
father’s house, where in the solitude of 
the old place his mind wandered back 
to the days of his boyhood. Long into 
the night he loved to sit at the window, 
dreaming of the happy days of the 
years gone by; in fact, during these mo- 
ments of reverie he lived with the 
phantom of his boyhood days, and 
when he realized the comments caused 
by his nocturnal visits to the old home- 
stead it keenly brought to him the fact 
that these people were indeed living in 
an age of superstition and ignorance. 

As he was thinking over the advisa- 
bility of informing his parishioners 
about their mistake, a new idea flashed 
through his mind which caused his face 
to flush with excitement. Why could 
he not live the happy life of the old 
days in reality, by having Marie- 
[n8] 


TEMPTATIONS 


Louise meet him in the old home after 
darkness, thereby taking advantage of 
the fearful superstition of his pa- 
rishioners, who certainly would not 
disturb him and his sweetheart? Why 
not remove his cassock and enjoy the 
illusion? Had they not suffered 
enough during all these years of un- 
satisfied love? At the thought of meet- 
ing her alone a glowing brightness 
came into his eyes and a fiery tingling 
passed over his whole body, and never 
before had he felt so much that indeed 
he was the slave of his love. What of 
the sin of such an unpriestly action? 
Little he seemed to care about that part, 
if only he could induce Marie-Louise 
to meet him after dark at the old home. 
His heart was no longer the grave of 
a buried desire. 

It was while thinking over these 
things, sitting in his presbytery, that 
someone timidly knocked at his door. 
As he opened it he was surprised to see 
Marie-Louise’s mother, sad, but sweet- 
faced, with premature white hair. 

[119] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


After offering her a chair he asked 
her what he could do for her. 

“ Monsieur le Cure, I came to ask 
you a great favor,” looking at him 
pleadingly. 

“ Don’t fear to ask me anything.” 

“ I am getting old and I fear that I 
shall soon pass away from this world; 
and when I die I should want to rest by 
my poor husband, who, as you know, 
was refused a sepulchre in the ceme- 
tery. Can you intercede for me to the 
Bishop and have a dispensation per- 
mitting the remains of my dear hus- 
band to be interred in the cemetery? 
you know that he was not a bad man, 
and that he did much good while liv- 
ing. Why should his remains be refused 
a Christian resting place? Can you, 
Monsieur le Cure, obtain a dispensa- 
tion? For my sake and my daugh- 
ter’s?” 

“ Madame Lenoir, I assure you that 
the remains of my esteemed old friend, 
Dr. Lenoir, will be removed from 
where they are into the cemetery, and 
this shall be done very soon.” 

[ 120 ] 


TEMPTATIONS 


“ Thank you — ever so much! You 
are very kind to us, Monsieur le Cure,” 
answered the widow, her gratitude 
shining through her tears. 

Left alone Victor felt bitterly the in- 
justice done by religious frenzy to the 
noble father of Marie-Louise. “And 
this is done in the name of Christ, who 
came to teach charity,” he said to him- 
self. 

One morning a few days later as he 
was sitting in the confessional listening 
to the confessions of the parishioners 
who were to receive communion that 
morning, Victor felt his blood chilled 
at the glance of a penitent who had 
entered the confessional and who was 
reciting her “ confiteor.” In the semi- 
darkness of the confessional he saw the 
sorrowful brown eyes of Marie-Louise, 
and the sight of her grief-stricken face 
gave rise in his soul to bitter rage 
against the very religion of which he 
was a minister. Unable to restrain 
himself, he half rose from his seat, and 
laying his hand upon the little perfor- 
ated partition between Marie-Louise 
[121] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


and himself as if in the act of com- 
manding her to stop, he said : “ Marie- 
Louise, you need not confess yourself 
to me. You are too good to kneel at my 
feet. Go in peace. Your sins are for- 
given.” 

“Father! what do you mean?” she 
asked, her face dead-white, like a dead 
woman’s face, except for her sad but 
bright brown eyes. 

“ I must see you after mass. Come to 
the presbytery,” he said as he bent for- 
ward, the fire of his great love shining 
brightly through his eyes and sending 
forth an indescribable thrill through 
her whole being. Half dazed, she got 
up and slowly walked to the church, as 
if dreaming. 

“ I will hear no more confessions to- 
day,” said the priest to those who had 
expected to be heard that morning, and 
he prepared himself to celebrate low 
mass. 

All during the divine service he was 
in such a state that many must have 
noticed the strange expression of his 
face, especially when he came down 
[122] 


TEMPTATIONS 


from the altar to the holy table to give 
communion to the few who had re* 
ceived the absolution of their sins. 
Marie-Louise was not among them. 

After mass he hurried to the presby 
tery, where a few minutes later Marie- 
Louise came in, pale as if terror- 
stricken. Without a word she sat down 
while the young priest stood looking 
pitifully and tenderly at her, appar- 
ently unable to speak, but after a few 
moments, stepping closer to her, he 
began : 

“ Marie-Louise, my promise to my 
parents to become a priest has been ful- 
filled. They are both dead, and the life 
we both have lived has been worse than 
death, for me at least. Out of the past 
comes a crowd of memories which will 
never give me any peace in this world. 
Now that I can see through the haze of 
religious fanaticism, Marie-Louise, I 
am confident that it is a sin against 
nature, yes, against God himself, for 
you and me to continue to suffer! Such 
as I am, I can never be a good priest. 

[123] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


But I could still be a good man! Yes, 
Marie-Louise, a good husband!” 

“ My God ! ” she exclaimed ; and her 
face became so pallid that her big 
brown eyes looked almost black and 
seemed unnaturally large. But as he 
stood bending over her, speaking with 
all the strength of his passionate love, 
her color came back, and with it her 
old-time beauty, tender and strange. 
And from this moment Victor was not 
only her lover, but also her master. 

When she walked home a new 
brightness was glowing in her eyes and 
the vast horizon of a new life was 
spreading before her. Religion itself 
was now powerless before their love. 
When night came the black-robed 
form of a man was seen going towards 
the haunted house, and later, when the 
pale silvery light of the moon had 
softened the darkness of the night in the 
tall pines on the shores of the St. Law- 
rence, the graceful form of a woman 
was hurriedly moving in the same 
direction. 


CHAPTER VIII 


FATHER DORION'S TROUBLES WITH HIS 
PARISHIONERS 

GREAT was the astonishment of his 
parishioners when Father Victor Dor- 
ion announced from the pulpit that the 
remains of the late Doctor Lenoir were 
to be removed into the cemetery and 
interred under the regular religious 
ceremonies of the church. 

Another announcement that also cre- 
ated much surprise was the reading of 
the first notice of “ banns ” of the future 
marriage of Dr. Louis Pichette to the 
daughter of a well-to-do farmer of the 
village. It was a surprise because it 
had been generally believed that Dr. 
Pichette would marry Dr. Lenoir’s 
daughter. 

After mass groups of parishioners 
formed in front of the church to discuss 
the strange decision of the cure in the 
[125] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


matter of the remains of the late Dr. 
Lenoir, and almost everybody was 
greatly shocked by such action. The 
more they talked it over the more they 
decided that it was the most sacrileg- 
ious thing they had ever heard of. 

“Why, just think of burying in the 
holy ground the remains of a man who 
died without the last sacraments! An 
infidel at that, who never went to 
church during his last years on earth! 
Sure, he was a good doctor, but there 
must be something wrong with the 
cure!” And they decided to write to 
the Bishop of the diocese about it. 

Another one said that he would never 
consent to have any of his folks or him- 
self buried in the same graveyard where 
such an infidel as Dr. Lenoir had been, 
was buried. A great feeling of unrest 
rose among these people, victims of re- 
ligious intolerance, with the result that 
a meeting was called in the village hall 
the same evening. At the meeting a 
committee was chosen after much dis- 
cussion to go and inquire of the cure if 
he had received a special dispensation 
[126] 


FATHER DORION’S TROUBLES 


from the Bishop in the matter, and if 
not, the same committee was immedi- 
ately to send a delegate to the Bishop 
and inform His Grace of the terrible 
sacrilege contemplated. 

During this time Father Victor Dor- 
ion gave orders that a grave be dug in 
the cemetery to receive the remains of 
Dr. Lenoir, which were to be exhumed 
the next morning. 

Very few were present at the ceremo- 
nies of the second interment, and 
among these some had come prompted 
more by curiosity than by a feeling of 
respect for the old doctor, whose soul, 
they firmly believed, was damned. 

The same day in the afternoon a 
committee of three called upon Father 
Dorion to ask him to show them the 
necessary dispensation from the Bishop, 
permitting the remains of Dr. Lenoir 
to be buried in the Catholic cemetery. 

“What business of yours is it?” 
asked the priest, looking scornfully at 
them. 

After a moment of hesitation one 
spoke up: “We’ve been chosen as a 
[127] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


committee to find out about this mat- 
ter.” 

“Well, what do I care about who 
sent you here? Why can’t you let the 
dead rest in peace? ” 

“ It’s like this, Monsieur le Cure, we 
have decided that unless a special dis- 
pensation was obtained from the 
Bishop we should not want to have an 
infidel, a man who died without reli- 
gion, buried in the same ground where 
our relatives are resting and where we 
shall ourselves some day be buried.” 

“Yes,” spoke up another of the com- 
mittee, “ and we have been told that he 
was a Freemason. Do you think that 
we want Freemasons to be buried where 
our children are?” 

At this point the young priest lost his 
temper, and with an angry light in his 
eyes he looked them in the face in turn, 
until each one was looking down, un- 
able to stand the terrible gaze of the 
superior man. Then, his voice tremb- 
ling with emotion, the priest spoke up, 
each word falling upon the ears of the 
[128] 


FATHER DORION’S TROUBLES 


three standing men like drops of boil- 
ing lead: 

“You miserable ignorants! Listen 
to my words. The man whose remains 
you are afraid will contaminate the 
rotting bodies of your dead relatives 
was so much better and nobler than any 
of you that you are not worthy to speak 
his name! Under the cloak of religion 
you presume to pass judgment upon the 
departed soul of the most intellectual 
man that ever honored you by living 
among you. Where is your Chrstian 
charity? What of the teachings of the 
Christ you pretend to love! Like hu- 
man vultures you have followed to his 
grave a man who was guilty of nothing 
against you. You forget that in time of 
illness many of you received his kind 
services. Some of you may owe your 
life to him — but you have forgotten all 
that, blinded by the fanaticism of your 
religion. It is such men as you that 
will go to hell! All the prayers of the 
church could never wash white the 
blackness of your prejudiced souls. 
Christian charity is a meaningless 
[129] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


word to you, and when you bow your 
heads in prayer you nurse in your soul 
such uncharitable feelings as you have 
displayed in this matter. 

“You may tell those you represent 
that I, upon my own responsibility, or- 
dered the remains to be interred in the 
cemetery. You may go to the Bishop, 
but there is no power on earth that can 
compel me to undo what I consider it 
was my duty to do. This is all I have 
to say to you ; good-by.” 

Like whipped curs they marched 
out without saying a word, over- 
whelmed by the merciless words of 
their pastor. Like the sun-rays that 
will pierce through dirty panes of glass, 
so the words of the priest pierced their 
souls. But years of religious intoler- 
ance had too thoroughly blunted the 
keenness of their intellect to permit 
them to reason on the lines hinted by 
the young priest, and as they gradually 
recovered they unanimously agreed 
that the cure had gone wrong. 

. When they made their report they 
simply stated that the cure was angry at 
[130] 


FATHER DORION’S TROUBLES 


them for calling upon him, and that he 
had not received any dispensation from 
the Bishop. 

A few days later Victor received a 
letter from his Bishop. It was a curt 
reprimand and an imperative command 
to re-exhume the remains of Dr. Le- 
noir and return them to that part of the 
graveyard reserved for children dead 
without baptism, and for persons who 
had died while not in the folds of the 
Catholic religion. The young priest 
read the letter many times ; then throw- 
ing it into the waste basket he walked 
out to call on Dr. Pichette, whom he 
found in his office. 

“ Doctor, I want you to promise me 
that you will keep secret what I am 
going to tell you,” he said to the doctor. 

“ You may trust that I will, Victor; 
what is it? ” answered the young doctor, 
surprised at the serious air of his friend, 
who told him about the command re- 
ceived from his Bishop in regard to the 
remains of Dr. Lenoir. “Now,” he 
added, “ I want you to help me to dig 
the coffin out of its grave and place it 


PRIEST AND MAN 


in another in the cemetery. We must 
leave no trace about the new grave. 
That will be an easy matter as the soil 
is sandy, and after carefully placing the 
coffin and its contents in the new grave 
we will refill the old grave. You under- 
stand?” 

“ I do,” answered Dr. Pichette, “ but 
what’s the idea?” 

“ The idea is this : I am going to re- 
sign my curateship here, and when I am 
gone they will dig the grave where 
they suppose Dr. Lenoir’s remains will 
be and when they find that there is 
nothing there the fools will imagine all 
sorts of things, and my old friend’s 
bones will remain in the cemetery.” 

“ Good for you, Victor! I am proud 
of you, and I have done that kind of 
work before. Yes, many a time, you 
know, when studying medicine, so that 
it will be a little remembrance of the 
old days. When shall we go to work? ” 

“ To-night, after 12 o’clock. Come 
to the presbytery and I will have every- 
thing ready for our task. Never a word 
about this.” 


[132] 


FATHER DORION’S TROUBLES 


“Never,” answered Dr. Pichette. 

It is safe to say that never before had 
such excitement existed in any Cana- 
dian village as that which stirred 
Father Victor Dorion’s parish during 
the time in which these events oc- 
curred. Lights were seen burning at 
night in the haunted house. Many 
were inclined to believe that the devil 
himself had taken possession of the 
place, and when they drove by the tall 
pines on Aime Dorion’s farm after 
dark they urged their horses and re- 
cited prayers. 

The following Sunday long before 
mass groups of excited men assembled 
in front of the church, discussing the 
terrible scandal caused by the cure’s 
action. It was generally known that 
the Bishop had ordered Father Dorion 
to remove the remains of Dr. Lenoir 
from the cemetery, and it was believed 
that the priest would submit to his su- 
perior’s orders, and would so announce 
from the pulpit. When the church bell 
rang its last call to the people to enter 
they walked in with an air of mysteri- 
[i33] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


ous expectation, and during the first 
part of the service an unusual and 
strange excitement seemed to exist in 
the little church, which increased as 
the priest ascended the pulpit to preach 
his usual Sunday sermon. 

Standing in the pulpit facing his con- 
gregation, Father Dorion’s glance 
passed over the whole assembly, notic- 
ing the great stress in everyone’s face. 

Slowly he crossed himself, and then 
announced that this was to be his last 
sermon to them, and that his text would 
be, “ Do unto others as ye would that 
they should do unto you.” 

Eloquent from the beginning, greater 
grew his eloquence as he proceeded, 
until many of his hearers were unable 
to restrain their tears. 

“You mistake barbarism for reli- 
gion,” he said before closing his ser- 
mon, “ and to your fanaticism you 
have added superstition. You pretend 
to practice charity, but you do not 
know the first quality of that virtue. 
You forget that Christian charity is like 
a flower moist with the dew of forgive- 
[134] 


FATHER DORION’S TROUBLES 


ness! You forget that Christ, the Son 
of God, came into this world to teach 
charity, and that his last words on the 
cross were a lesson of supreme charity. 
Your blind fanaticism reaches even be- 
yond this life; its curse, like the poison 
of a deadly insect, stings the remains of 
the dead. What right have you — more, 
what right has the church to pass judg- 
ment upon those who have departed 
this world and have appeared before 
their Creator? 

“ Who are you, that you presume to 
reach beyond the bourne of life? Why 
should you be afraid that your remains 
may be contaminated when you die? 
Dust thou art and dust thou shalt be. 

“ Does it matter if the worms eat your 
bones near this one or that one? Were 
you not victims of fanaticism it would 
not be necessary for me to speak as I do 
now; but even after you have heard me 
you will still, I am afraid, fall back into 
the darkness of your ignorance, and as 
years go by you will continue to believe 
in ghosts, and, I dare say, your religious 
teachings are to some extent to blame. 
[i35] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


“You have been taught that there is 
a hell of brimstone, and many of you 
are kept from committing crimes for 
the fear of it, and for such, hell as an 
institution is a good thing; but if you 
understood charity as taught by Christ 
you would not worry about hell, my 
poor brothers. Many of your sins 
would not be sins if your souls were 
pure. Standing in this church for the 
last time, my heart bleeds and my soul 
is overflowing with sorrow for you. A 
child of this village, I feel keenly the 
disgrace of your conduct, and I pray 
God that in his great mercy He will 
forgive you, for you know not what 
you are doing. 

“ When I am gone I do not ask you 
to pray for me, but I urge you to pray 
for more charity; and may God Al- 
mighty hear your prayers and open 
your eyes, because He and He alone 
in his omnipotence can do it.” 

A most oppressive silence existed in 
the church, and as the priest descended 
from the pulpit each step echoed 
through all parts of the building. This 
[136] 


FATHER DORION’S TROUBLES 


silence was not broken until the priest 
had reached the altar to finish the mass, 
when he turned to face the congrega- 
tion and sang out “ Dominus vobis- 
cum,” and as his voice floated in the 
vitiated atmosphere of the crowded 
church it seemed to arouse them, and 
while many looked at one another, the 
choir answered, “ Et cum spiritu 
tuo.” 

After mass the crowd lingered a few 
moments in front of the church, still too 
stupefied to discuss the sermon. Then 
they gradually dispersed in many dif- 
ferent directions, like sheep without a 
shepherd. 


[137] 


CHAPTER IX 


HE ABANDONS PRIESTHOOD 

When the Bishop received the resig- 
nation of Father Dorion his Grace 
was greatly surprised and decided to 
send for the young priest at once, be- 
lieving that matters could be satisfac- 
torily arranged; but when the next 
day the Bishop saw Father Dorion 
standing before him with a determined 
expression in his face he knew at once 
that the matter was serious. 

After the customary greetings be- 
tween Bishop and priest, Victor was 
asked to be seated. 

“ My son,” said the old Bishop, “ are 
you not aware that your action in the 
matter of Dr. Lenoir’s remains is one of 
great guilt? For two reasons: First, 
because it is against the rules of the 
Church; second, because you should 
not have acted in such an important 
[138] 


HE ABANDONS PRIESTHOOD 


matter without having consulted your 
Bishop.” 

“With your Grace’s permission, I 
wish to answer that I was aware that it 
was against the rule of the Church, and 
therefore useless to consult you in the 
matter, unless the Doctor’s widow 
would have been able to pay a sufficient 
amount of money for a dispensation, 
which I knew she could not do. Fur- 
thermore, I felt convinced, and I do 
now, that such a rule is not only unjust, 
but is also inhuman and unchristian. 
It is a law that conflicts with the very 
teachings of Christian charity, and it 
does not emanate from the teachings of 
Christ,” said Father Dorion in a firm 
voice. 

“I am greatly surprised at your 
words,” answered the Bishop, “ because 
you should know that the rules of our 
Holy Church are the rules of Christ 
Himself! How dare you presume that 
in such matters yours is better than the 
judgment of the Holy Fathers of the 
Church? ” 

“ Your Grace, I will not discuss these 
[139] 


PRIEST ANDAMAN 


matters with you. It is my desire to 
cease to be a priest because I am firmly 
convinced that it was an error caused by 
extravagant notions of religion that I 
was compelled to enter the priesthood; 
but it is never too late to rectify a mis- 
take, and no power on earth could 
change my decision.” 

“Abomination! My poor man, you 
will be excommunicated from the 
Church and be pointed out as a man 
without honor. Think of the scandal 
such action will cause. Think of your 
poor mother, who from heaven will see 
your disgrace,” said the Bishop pain- 
fully. 

“ If my poor mother could advise me, 
your Grace, I am convinced that she 
would urge me to abandon my priest- 
hood. How can I be expected to re- 
main a minister of the Catholic Church 
when I cannot comply with its teach- 
ings? I do not deny that the Catholic 
religion is the true religion, but instead 
of having progressed with the times, it 
has retrograded. Instead of throwing 
light upon moral questions, it has en- 
[140] 


HE ABANDONS PRIESTHOOD 


couraged ignorance and religious 
frenzy. It has usurped individual 
rights, and encroached upon the liberty 
of natural vocation. Victims of fanati- 
cal teachings, my parents compelled my 
young soul to the cruel fate of fighting 
my natural instincts by entering the 
priesthood. Encouraged by a priest 
who should have known better, they 
blindly urged me to enter a vocation 
which was not mine. In their irrational 
enthusiasm they forgot that I was en- 
titled to consideration, and at an age 
when one’s nature is easily led by emo- 
tion and one’s faculties have not their 
matured strength, they sacrificed their 
son upon the altar of religious fanati- 
cism. But, to-day, much as I hate to 
cause grief to your Grace, I know that 
I can still be a good man and a useful 
member of society, while I could never 
be an acceptable minister of the 
Catholic religion as it now is. Regard- 
less of the results, I for the last time 
wear the costume of priesthood. 

“ I fully realize the fact that you will 
excommunicate me, and that I may be 
[«4i] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


pointed out as a ‘ defroque,’ but I as- 
sure you that my faith rests in a higher 
tribunal than the Church’s, and I fear 
the remorse that, should I remain a 
priest, would canker my life. I bid 
your Grace good-by.” 

Before the Bishop had time to speak 
the young priest was out of the episco- 
pal residence. 

An aged priest was sent to take Vic- 
tor’s place, and at once he set to work 
quieting the excited people of the little 
parish, who had no idea where Father 
Dorion went. Some thought that after 
being called to the Bishop he had been 
induced to enter a monastery, where he 
would do penance for his errors; while 
others were of the opinion that the 
young priest had turned out to be a bad 
man, a 1 defroque ’ (as they call a priest 
who changes his vocation) or had com- 
mitted suicide. 

While the late happenings were eag- 
erly discussed by the people of the little 
village Marie-Louise and Victor met 
each day after sun-down in the sup- 
posedly haunted house, where they felt 
[142] 


HE ABANDONS PRIESTHOOD 


perfectly secure from intrusion, and in 
the stillness of the old home they made 
plans for the future. 

It was about this time that startling 
reports were heard of the discovery of 
the wonderful gold mines of Cali- 
fornia. Many French Canadians were 
infected by the gold fever and hope- 
fully left Canada for the gold fields 
of the States to seek fortunes. Victor 
Dorion, the ex-priest, decided to direct 
his steps towards the new gold regions. 


[143] 


CHAPTER X 


FAREWELL 

FOR the last time before his depar- 
ture Victor was waiting for Marie- 
Louise, sitting at the window facing the 
little pathway where she usually came. 
He felt a strange sadness at the thought 
of their meeting for the last time, at 
least for months, and perhaps years, 
but again his sadness gave place to a 
great feeling of satisfaction, of that 
satisfaction that comes to the heart of 
one who feels that he is doing a noble 
duty. 

As he sat and watched at the window 
for her coming the soft light from the 
moon made the shadows of the tall trees 
appear like big sleeping giants, whose 
arms seemed to reach far into the 
woods, and as clouds floated by the 
moon these shadows slowly vanished 
in the creeping darkness, which lasted 
[* 44 ] 


FAREWELL 


only a few moments, then again the 
strange forms came. It is such a sight 
as always invites one to wander into 
dreamland, and under its influence 
Victor felt as if these shadows might 
hold Marie-Louise in their arms. 
Strange to say. he was getting anxious 
about her, especially when after a spell 
of darkness the silvery moonlight 
shone again. But soon out of the new- 
ly formed shadows he saw her coming, 
as if brought out by the shadows them- 
selves. 

The white shawl upon her head 
made her look like a Madonna as the 
moon’s rays played upon her beautiful 
face. 

“ At last, dear, you have come ! What 
made you so late?” asked Victor, hold- 
ing her in his arms. 

“ Twice I started to come, but each 
time when near the river I imagined I 
saw someone watching and following 
me, and each time I turned back. But 
the third time I decided to come by an- 
other road, and I must have lost my 
[145] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


way, for it seemed that I should never 
reach here.” 

It was late in the same night when 
Victor and Marie-Louise could have 
been seen walking slowly on the shores 
of the St. Lawrence. It was their last 
walk before his leaving for the States, 
and the tears that glistened on Marie- 
Louise’s face told of the sorrowful state 
of her soul. 

“ Be strong, my sweetheart,” said 
Vitcor, as they reached the little cross- 
road where they were to bid each other 
a parting farewell. “ I will return 
some day to take you away with me, 
and then we shall be so happy that we 
will forget the past. Were it not for 
your dear old mother I would never 
think of leaving without you, but you 
must remain with her, nurse her, and 
make as bright as possible the last years 
of her life. Remember, Marie-Louise, 
that nothing but death will ever sepa- 
rate us when I come back. Have faith 
in the future. You are mine and I am 
yours.” 

“ Yes, Victor,” answered Marie- x 

[146] 


FAREWELL 


Louise; “but how I dread those days 
when you will not be here to strengthen 
me in moments of discouragement. 
Oh! Victor, Victor, it is so hard to part 
from you! It is like tearing my heart 
to pieces, but I know we must part, and 
you will write often, won’t you, dear? 
You will tell me everything — every- 
thing.” 

“ Yes, my dear, I will be with you in 
spirit every moment. You will fill my 
heart as when I first went to college, 
and I will write often. Good-by — 
God bless you, angel.” 

After a long embrace they parted, 
Marie-Louise to walk painfully back 
to her home, and Victor to face the 
world, a new man, hopeful for better 
days. 

It was almost daylight when he 
reached a small place on the St. Law- 
rence River where the boats stopped to 
load freight and take passengers to the 
Canadian metropolis. Dressed in civil- 
ian clothes, Victor failed to attract any 
attention as he got aboard the little 
steamer, “ Sorel.” The same day he 
[147] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


landed in Montreal, whence he started 
for the Californian gold-fields. 

In obedience to the orders from his 
Bishop, and to please his parishioners, 
the new village priest ordered that the 
remains of Dr. Lenoir be removed 
from the cemetery to their first burial 
place, and accordingly men were set to 
work to accomplish the task. But after 
digging deeper than the usual depth of 
graves they were amazed at not finding 
any trace of the coffin they were seek- 
ing; and with a feeling of superstitious 
terror they ran and notified the priest 
of the condition of things. The priest 
ordered them to make a larger excava- 
tion, thinking that they had not dug at 
the exact place where the remains had 
been deposited, but after much digging 
there was still no trace of the coffin. 
Like a trail of wild-fire the report that 
Dr. Lenoir’s coffin had simply dis- 
appeared traveled through the little 
village, and great was the amazement 
of the people. 

Some thought that the devil himself 
[148] 


FAREWELL 


had taken away the remains, while 
others believed that the body had been 
carried away by the ex-cure, Victor 
Dorion. Rumors of all kinds were cir- 
culated, and the new priest found him- 
self unable to offer any satisfactory ex- 
planation. 

A letter was sent to the Bishop about 
the matter, and his Episcopal Grace 
wisely ordered that all search or talk 
concerning the mysterious happening 
should cease, under penalty of excom- 
munication, concluding that undoubt- 
edly the hand of Divine Providence 
had been active in the matter. 

During this time Dr. Lenoir’s 
widow was rapidly aging, and her 
steps were now uncertain and unsteady. 
Whenever she appeared outside of her 
house she was supported by her daugh- 
ter, whose coolness and indifference 
was the wonder of the people during 
the general excitement of the time. 

It became generally believed that the 
ghost of the late Dr. Lenoir was mak- 
ing his headquarters at the haunted 
house, and more than ever were the 
[149] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


people in terror when passing at night 
by the beautiful but neglected home- 
stead of the Dorions, and many were 
the stories of “ loup-garous ” seen 
among the tall trees of the haunted 
farm. 

At night when the wind shook the 
trees, causing strange sounds by the 
rubbing of the branches, they imagined 
these noises to be plaintive tones, and it 
was reported that even horses took 
fright when driven past the pine trees 
after dark. School children spoke in 
whispers about the terrible spirits that 
haunted the house, and old women fer- 
vently prayed upon their strings of 
beads when the name of Dr. Lenoir 
was spoken in their presence. 

Instead of pitying the widow and her 
daughter, they considered them too 
loathsome to hold communion with, 
and, except Dr. Pichette and his wife, 
who lived with the Lenoirs, no one 
dared to have any friendly intercourse 
with these two recluses. 

As time passed by, instead of dimin- 
ishing, the foolish superstition was in- 
[150] 


FAREWELL 


creasing, and it reached a point when 
Dr. Pichette himself dared not contra- 
dict or make light of the general belief, 
fearing to be classified as a heretic and 
Freemason. 

Slowly but surely the shadow of 
death was hovering over Lenoir’s 
widow, and when autumn came the 
martyred woman peacefully passed 
away. 

With a bravery sustained by love, 
Marie-Louise saw the wasted face of 
her mother become lifeless, and when 
she closed her mother’s eyes, cold in 
death, it was with the stoic resignation 
that could be supported only by her 
love for Victor. As she went through 
the dreadful and painful ordeal, his 
love was the beacon-star that guided 
her steps. 

By a strange freak of fate the re- 
mains were interred a few inches only 
from the grave in which Victor and 
Dr. Pichette had secretly buried the 
body of her husband, and in death the 
husband and wife rested side by side. 

Long after the few mourners had 

[151] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


left the cemetery Marie-Louise stood 
alone by the fresh grave of her mother, 
and in a sublime prayer she offered her 
petition to God that He might help 
Victor to be successful. Alone in the 
world, Marie-Louise looked ahead to 
the time when Victor would come back, 
hoping for him as a shipwrecked sailor 
hopes for a boat to come to his rescue. 
Without the hope and firm belief that 
he would come this frail woman would 
have been crushed under the burden of 
her misfortune; but, woman-like, her 
love gave her strength to weather the 
storm, and almost glad of her solitude, 
she lived for the future’s sake. 

As days went by she developed the 
strange notion to wander through the 
woods near the haunted house after sun- 
down, slowly walking over the same 
places where she remembered having 
been with Victor. The rustling of the 
autumn leaves as they fell seemed to re- 
peat to her ear Victor’s pledges, made 
under the same trees, and it was always 
with renewed hope that she came back 
from these nocturnal excursions. 

[152] 


FAREWELL 


At other times she wandered into the 
cemetery, where, upon the grave of her 
mother, she prayed with all the fervor 
of her soul for the repose of her parents. 

During this time rumors of a new ap- 
parition were circulated in the village. 
It was said that the phantom of the late 
widow Lenoir had been seen wandering 
in the night in the cemetery, “ seeking 
the soul of her husband.” Some 
claimed they had come almost face to 
face with the wandering ghost of a 
woman, and that, before it vanished, 
they had been able to notice the strange 
and painful expression peculiar to Mrs. 
Lenoir’s face during her life. Others 
said that while they had not seen the 
phantom’s face they had heard the 
sound of its voice moaning and min- 
gling its sad accents with the low chant- 
ing of the tall pines. As time passed 
by, new tales of ghosts were circulated, 
and there were only few in the village 
who dared travel after dark on the road 
that passed by the haunted house or by 
the cemetery, and the rising generation 
learned the mysterious romances of the 
[i53l 


PRIEST AND MAN 


old Dorion farm as they learned their 
catechism. 

It was a common thing to hear the 
fate of Dr. Lenoir cited as a terrible 
example of dying without religious 
benediction, and the doctor’s name was 
synonym for a lost soul. 

It was three years since Victor Dor- 
ion had mysteriously left his native vil- 
lage, and the serene expression of 
Marie-Louise’s face was a mystery to 
those who saw her. Some thought that 
she had lost her reason, but Dr. Pich- 
ette and his wife knew that her peace- 
ful appearance was caused by the hope 
kept fresh in her soul by the letters that 
came once in a while from the United 
States, where Victor Dorion was 
rapidly realizing the object of his ex- 
patriation. 


[■54] 


CHAPTER XI 


VICTOR AS A MINER 

Far into the golden regions of Cali- 
fornia a small village of miners was 
quietly rising, and among the miners 
who dug gold in quantity that later as- 
tonished the world, one, a slender and 
apparently frail man, known as “Vic” 
among his companions, was recognized 
as the leader of the little colony, com- 
posed mostly of French Canadians. 
His supremacy was not the result of 
any scheming faculty, nor because his 
claim had turned out to be the richest 
of the lot; but because his kindness 
had brought rays of sunshine to many 
during moments of distress when sick- 
ness had visited them. It was to him 
that those who could not write came to 
have letters written, and in case of ac- 
cident it was he who carefully ban- 
daged the fractured limbs; and his 
[i55] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


“shanty” was the rendezvous where 
evenings were delightfully spent in lis- 
tening to his singing of old French 
songs that often brought tears to the 
eyes of those who understood them. 

None of them knew where Victor 
came from, or what his past had been, 
but all were satisfied to worship him 
for his great heart and his tenderness 
and good nature. They were mostly 
individuals who had gone through ex- 
periences such as to disgust them with 
ordinary pursuits, but who were not yet 
so old, nor had suffered so much, as to 
lose their faith in the future. Honest 
and thoughtful faces were among 
them; eyes that had not been pre- 
maturely dimmed by night studies; 
and few showed threads of silver in 
their hair. Some were of marked in- 
dividuality; and on the whole it was a 
society such as has seldom met together. 
They were not all of the Catholic 
creed, but a spirit of tolerance per- 
vaded their discussions on religion. 
Hopeful in ultimate success they en- 
joyed their hard work, and when 
[156] 


VICTOR AS A MINER 


evening came they met and enjoyed 
themselves in the quietness of their lit- 
tle settlement where deep and true sym- 
pathy was abiding. 

As time passed by and the success of 
their search for gold became evident, 
new gold-seekers came and helped to 
change the little settlement into a vil- 
lage. And when it was decided to 
form the organization of the new 
village Victor was unanimously elected 
mayor and the new place was named 
“ Victoria.” 

When the news of the rich findings 
of the Victoria settlers reached the out- 
side world thousands of men started in 
the direction of the little village, and as 
if by magic Victoria sprang into an im- 
portant and large mining center, where 
capitalists rushed, anxious to buy inter- 
ests in some of the claims. But the orig- 
inal few, who had staked their claims 
first and together, decided to refuse all 
offers, and as time went on the com- 
bined claims owned by these early set- 
tlers represented a fabulous fortune, 
enough to make each one a millionaire. 
[157] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


Instead of small “ shanties,” hand- 
some residences were built, and all the 
blessings of sudden prosperity were in 
evidence in Victoria. 

To Victor Dorion, or “Vic,” as they 
called him, much credit was due for the 
rapid manner in which this mush- 
room town took on metropolitan airs; 
and when newspaper men from San 
Francisco came to write up the thriv- 
ing village they were always referred 
to “Vic,” the esteemed mayor. Here 
are a few lines that appeared in one of 
the San Francisco dailies of the time: 

“Victoria is the most wonderful 
mining village in California, but still 
more wonderful is its mayor, ‘Vic’ 
Dorion, a Canadian of good education 
and refined manners. He is the soul of 
the town and the friend of everybody. 
It is impossible to learn anything of his 
past, or where he hailed from. It is 
believed that he belongs to some dis- 
tinguished French family who em- 
igrated to Canada, and that there is 
some romance of love connected with 
[158] 


VICTOR AS A MINER 


his past history, but Mayor ‘Vic’ has 
invariably refused to speak of his past, 
and he is loved for what he is and not 
what he was.” 

When Victor read these lines he 
simply smiled sadly, as it reminded 
him of those days of moral torture 
when he lived in his own country. 

It was about this time that he wrote 
this letter to Marie-Louise : 

“ My Dear and Beloved Marie- 
Louise: At last the time has arrived 
for me to go after you and bring you 
here to be my queen. I will not go into 
details about my fortune, that is of so 
little importance when compared with 
our reunion; but it is big enough to do 
for both of us, and last us as long as we 
live. Yes, dear, I have won the battle 
for you ; the gold I have found is yours, 
because gold without you would be no 
better than light to the blind. In a few 
days I shall be on my way to claim you, 
and, Oh! how I long for the moment 
when again I can press you to my heart 
[159] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


and look into your deep brown eyes! I 
will hurry, dear, and I will not rest 
until I have you with me. Have pa- 
tience a little longer, my angel, and 
soon we shall enjoy our great happi- 
ness, the happiness that you deserve so 
well. 

“With my truest and purest love, 
I am, 

“Yours forever, 

“ Victor." 

When Marie-Louise read this letter 
she felt such a great wave of happiness 
come over her soul that she was almost 
oppressed. The fetters seemed to 
loosen and fall, and kneeling she 
thanked God in a mute prayer such as 
only can come from a true woman who 
is in love. 

Woman-like she could not keep to 
herself her coming good fortune, and 
accordingly she read Victor’s letter to 
Dr. Pichette’s wife. 

A new life seemed to enter her body, 
and the happy light that shone in her 
t 1 60] 


VICTOR AS A MINER 


usually sad brown eyes told of the 
happy state in which she was. 

As the days passed she grew restless, 
and she wished that she could fall 
asleep to awake upon his arrival; but 
she tried patiently to await his coming 
by dreaming of their future happiness. 


CHAPTER XII 


A STRANGER IN THEIR MIDST 

It was late on Saturday night when 
a slender and handsome man with a 
full beard and all the appearance of 
a well-to-do American stood at Dr. 
Pichette’s door. 

After ringing he held his hand to his 
heart as if to suppress its too strong 
beating. 

When Dr. Pichette opened the door 
he was surprised to see a stranger; but 
after an instant, noticing in the dim 
light of the candle the tears that shone 
in the man’s eyes, he recognized his old 
friend, Victor Dorion, and embraced 
him feelingly in the manner of the 
French people. 

“ Marie-Louise — how is she?” was 
Victor’s first question. 

“ She is well — the dear girl — in bed, 
dreaming of you, Victor.” 

“ Thank God.” 


[162] 


A STRANGER IN THEIR MIDST 

“Shall I call her?” asked the 
Doctor. 

“ Certainly,” answered Victor, tak- 
ing off his coat, while the Doctor has- 
tened to tell his wife to awake Marie- 
Louise. 

A few minutes later Marie-Louise 
came in, and throwing herself into Vic- 
tor’s arms she was too happy to speak. 
As they both stood in a loving embrace 
he tenderly passed his hand over her 
head, tears of joy glistening in his eyes. 

Dr. Pichette and his wife retired, 
feeling that such happiness was too 
sacred to be witnessed. 

It was far into the night when Marie- 
Louise and Victor found courage to 
retire. In the morning when Dr. Pich- 
ette and Victor sat together they agreed 
that his arrival should be kept a secret. 

The Doctor told Victor of the ru- 
mors of ghosts, and also about the now 
general and accepted belief that the 
house of his father was haunted. 

After breakfast it was decided that 
Marie-Louise and the Doctor’s wife 
would go to church together, while Dr. 
[163] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


Pichette and Victor would walk there 
together, sure that no one would recog- 
nize Victor. 

A stranger in the little village never 
failed to attract considerable attention. 
One of such distinguished appearance 
had never before been seen there, and, 
as it may be imagined, when Victor and 
the Doctor walked into church many 
turned around and followed with their 
eyes the handsome and well-dressed 
stranger. 

Many times during mass Victor felt 
tears come to his eyes at the remem- 
brance of the past. 

After mass Dr. Pichette, as had been 
agreed, introduced Victor as a scientist 
from the United States, who had heard 
about the mysterious apparitions in and 
about the haunted house, and had come 
in the interest of science to investigate 
the truth in the matter, adding that it 
was his intention to spend at least one 
night in the dreaded haunted house. 
Some were horrified, while others 
pitied the adventurous stranger, and 
others, more charitable, advised him to 
[164] 


A STRANGER IN THEIR MIDST 


desist from his project as he would 
certainly never come out alive. But to 
this the stranger simply smiled and 
said that he was willing and anxious 
to run the risk. 

At sundown the whole parish was as- 
sembled under the tall trees in front of 
the dreaded haunted house. Women 
were devoutly saying prayers upon 
their beads, and men stood in little 
groups smoking their pipes and dis- 
cussing the strange action of the man 
who was to sleep in the haunted house 
that night. 

When Dr. Pichette drove up with 
the stranger a murmur of great pity 
and fear was heard, and when the Doc- 
tor shook hands smilingly with the pre- 
tended American scientist who was 
about to enter the house many of the 
women became hysterical and fairly 
cried out to stop him from entering. 
But the next instant the door was 
pushed open and Victor was in his old 
home, greatly affected by the strange 
and weird condition under which he 
[165] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


again had stepped into the cherished 
home of his childhood. 

As the darkness of the night came on 
and increased, greater grew the ner- 
vous tension of the people, who had 
decided to remain and watch through 
the night the old haunted house. To 
many the strain was too great, and be- 
fore it was late they were obliged to go 
to their homes. 

At about midnight an intense excite- 
ment was created among the watchers 
by the apparition of the white-robed 
form of a woman who seemed to be 
slowly gliding among the trees nearest 
to the back of the house. All the peo- 
ple fell on their knees, trembling with 
awe and dread, and they prayed loudly 
for themselves and also for the unfor- 
tunate stranger in the house. As the 
white-robed figure approached the en- 
trance to the house some of the women 
screamed, “Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!” 
and fainted. 

At that instant Marie-Louise, in her 
white costume, entered the haunted 
l 1 66] 


A STRANGER IN THEIR MIDST 


house where Victor had patiently 
waited for her. Sitting by the window, 
hands in hands, they talked over the 
days of their childhood, when often by 
starlight they had wandered together 
through the forest, stopping upon the 
shores of the beautiful St. Lawrence 
River, where, upon some rock, they had 
planned for the future, never dreaming 
that such fearful scenes as were now 
taking place would ever happen. As 
the clouds that had darkened the night 
began to be dispelled by the early sun- 
rise, giving hope of a perfect day, they 
still sat by the window, but Marie- 
Louise, exhausted by the emotions of 
the night, had fallen asleep, her head 
resting on Victor’s shoulder, who en- 
joyed the situation too deeply to sleep. 

To those who had remained on watch 
all night many were added with sun- 
rise, and with a feeling of expectancy 
of some strange and mysterious happen- 
ing, the growing crowd slowly ad- 
vanced near the house. Many expected 
to see a maniac come out of the house if 
the man were yet alive, but it was gen- 
[167] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


erally believed that he must have died 
of fright during the night. 

The bravest among them were ap- 
proaching quite close to the house while 
the more timid and the women re- 
mained behind, partly hiding them- 
selves back of the tall pines. When the 
feeling of excited expectation reached 
its climax the front door of the house 
was opened from the inside and upon 
its threshold stood the stranger smiling 
at them, and after the noise of their 
murmuring voices subsided, he said: 

“ Last night your ex-cure, Victor 
Dorion, was in this house, dreaming of 
his childhood days. He held in his 
hands the ‘ soutane’ he used to wear 
when he was your officiating priest; 
and as he looked back to the days of his 
childhood he felt the tears coursing 
down his cheeks and was tempted to 
curse the fanaticism that made it pos- 
sible for you to believe that your reli- 
gion demands that you should be so 
superstitious and intolerant. Your un- 
charitable judgment has followed the 
victims of your fanaticism beyond 
[168] 


A STRANGER IN THEIR MIDST 

death, and your ignorance made it pos- 
sible for you to believe that ghosts of 
departed persons were wandering back 
into this world. 

“You have called this place ‘the 
haunted house. 7 Why? Can any one 
of you answer me? No, but I will an- 
swer for you. You believe in ghosts 
because from the first tottering steps of 
your childhood you are educated in 
that religious fanaticism which nurses 
such belief. It is not your religion 
that is to blame, but the way it is taught 
to you; and your ministers are respon- 
sible for the pitiful state in which you 
are living. 

“ My own father was a victim of the 
same religious enthusiasm, and no one 
has suffered more than I have from its 
dire and cruel results. I, the son of 
Aime Dorion! I, Victor Dorion, the 
defroque — your ex-cure! Don’t you 
recognize me? My visits after dark to 
this home of mine before I left were the 
cause of your belief that it was haunted, 
and last night when you saw a white- 
robed form approaching this place you 
[169] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


felt sure that you were gazing upon 
some supernatural being, but in^fact, 
the white-robed apparition of last night 
was simply another victim of your fa- 
natic notions, as it was no one else than 
Marie-Louise Lenoir, the daughter of 
the late Dr. Lenoir; Marie-Louise, 
whom I your ex-priest will marry. 
Hers was the form that you saw at 
night praying upon the grave of her 
mother in the cemetery, where in the 
peaceful solitude of the graves she for- 
got your miserable injustice. 

“ Driven to the wall like a wild beast 
by your narrow and uncharitable judg- 
ment, I lingered here in this house as 
long as I could and then went away, 
strong in my belief that God was on my 
side; and to-day, if I linger here again 
it is for the sake of her whom you have 
ostracized, and also for the sake of the 
remembrance of the first years of my 
childhood, happy until I felt the infec- 
tion of your wild and extravagant no- 
tions of religion. 

“ While you were discussing the 
ghosts of this place, making conjectures 
[170] 


A STRANGER IN THEIR'. MIDST 


about the torments that my soul was 
enduring if I were dead, I was making 
a fortune, making a blessed fortune by 
the hope of coming after the other be- 
ing who was so keenly afflicted by your 
barbarity; and to-day, rich in money, I 
am still richer in the happiness of tak- 
ing away from your midst my beloved 
Marie - Louise, whose personality 
among you is like a superb diamond 
among crude stones. 

“ As I now stand before you there is 
more pity than bitterness in my soul, 
and with the hope that your eyes will 
be opened by this happening, I shall go 
away with forgiveness in my heart. 
And as a monument of my forgiveness 
I will give fifty thousand dollars for the 
purpose of building a home for the old 
and feeble, the same home to be erected 
right here under these tall pines that 
have witnessed the happiness of my 
childhood days. The money will be 
placed in trust in the hands of your 
cure, and the contemplated institution 
is to be under the direction of the 
1 Sisters of Chartiy,’ and I will further 
[i7d 


PRIEST AND MAN 


provide for an annuity of five thousand 
dollars to pay the running expenses 
each year during twenty- five years.” 

As Victor ceased speaking the 
amazed crowd rushed to him, some act- 
ing like mad, crying and imploring his 
forgiveness. 

They were under the spell of his elo- 
quence. Under his burning words of 
truth the misty fanaticism of their na- 
ture began to be dispelled, and for the 
time being they were willing to let the 
truthfulness of his thoughts brighten 
their souls; but later, when they wan- 
dered slowly back to their homes, some 
felt the darkness of doubt creep back 
into their souls, and shaking their heads 
they said: “This man with all his 
money may be the devil in disguise, be- 
cause no good man could have once 
been a priest and then decide to marry.” 

“ That’s so,” others answered. 

When the village priest was informed 
about the strange facts of the night be- 
fore, and about Victor Dorion’s words, 
he shook his head in a doubtful way 
and told his parishioners to pray for 
b72] 


A STRANGER IN THEIR MIDST 


the poor man who had gone so far as to 
forget his obligations of priesthood. 

When Victor, accompanied by Dr. 
Pichette, called on the village priest for 
the purpose of making a formal offer 
of his donation and make arrangements 
to build the proposed charitable insti- 
tution, he was surprised to hear the 
priest say: “I cannot accept your 
money or agree to carry out your plans 
without first being authorized by my 
superior, his Grace the Bishop of the 
diocese.” 

Victor decided to go to the Bishop 
and inform him of the proposed dona- 
tion. The Bishop was greatly pleased 
with Victor’s magnificent offer, and, 
businessman-like, he accepted it at 
once, agreeing to supervise the details 
of construction himself. Victor was 
pleased at the cordiality with which the 
Bishop treated him, and encouraged by 
his Grace’s kindness, Victor, notwith- 
standing the fact that he was aware of 
the rules of the Catholic Church relat- 
ing to the marriage of priests, decided 

[173] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


to mention his proposed marriage to 
the Bishop. 

“The Catholic Church, as you cer- 
tainly must know, would never sanction 
the marriage of one of her priests,” an- 
swered the Bishop. 

“ I am no more a priest,” said Victor. 

“Once a priest, always a priest,” 
stated the Bishop. 

“ Then I must understand that it will 
not be possible for me to be married in 
the Catholic Church?” asked Victor. 

“ Surely not, unless you obtain a spe- 
cial dispensation from the Pope,” an- 
swered the Bishop, offering his services 
to open negotiations with his Holiness, 
the Pope, with a view of obtaining a 
dispensation. 

But Victor was not willing to wait 
for the long delay necessitated by such 
negotiations, and informed the Bishop 
of his decision to get married out of 
the Catholic Church, and the next day 
Victor and Marie-Louise were united 
in Montreal under the civil law. 

When Victor Dorion and his bride 
arrived at Victoria they were met at the 
[174] 


A STRANGER IN THEIR MIDST 


little station by the whole town, and 
never was a welcome more sincerely 
and touchingly given to anyone than 
the one accorded the new couple by the 
population of Victoria. The streets 
were gaily decorated, and everywhere 
were signs of rejoicing, and a band, 
which had been engaged from San 
Francisco for the occasion, filled the 
air with joyous and lively melodies such 
as never before had been heard in those 
regions. 

“ You must be the king of this place,” 
said Marie-Louise, surprised at the ex- 
traordinary reception and demonstra- 
tion accorded to her husband. 

“ No, ma cherie, I am not their king, 
but this demonstration is for my queen. 
Were I alone there would be none of 
this. It is in your honor, and they are 
not doing too much.” 

Just then a reception committee sur- 
rounded them, and the chairman, a 
bluff miner little used to these things, 
did the best he could to properly read 
his short address of welcome, at the 
conclusion of which another miner 
[*75l 


PRIEST AND MAN 


awkwardly advanced to Marie-Louise, 
carrying a big bouquet of American 
Beauties and other flowers and pre- 
sented them to her, who, with tears of 
joy in her eyes, accepted them and car- 
ried them to her lips while a great out- 
burst of applause broke out. 

“ Oh, if I could only speak English,” 
said Marie-Louise to Victor as they 
were driving to their new home, which 
was about half a mile from the station. 

“ Never mind, dear, I’ll teach you in 
a very short while.” 

When they reached the magnificent 
villa Marie-Louise could hardly be- 
lieve that it was not a dream. Used to 
the simple life of her little village, she 
now found herself the mistress of a 
beautiful mansion, richer than any- 
thing she had ever dreamed of, and in 
her soul she almost wished that her new 
home might have been less rich and 
grand, but it was Victor’s wish, and his 
wish was her law. 

Kissing her tenderly before sitting 
down to their first meal in their home, 
Victor said, “ Marie-Louise, you are 
[176] 


A STRANGER IN THEIR MIDST 


the queen of all this ; it’s yours ; and all 
I ask in return is to let me be king of 
your heart always.” 

She did not answer him, but in her 
lingering embrace there was more elo- 
quence than couW have been in words. 

Ten years later once more Victor 
and Marie-Louise were sitting under 
the stately pines where they had learned 
to love each other, and while enjoying 
the sacred memories of the past they 
were watching their oldest son, a manly 
little fellow who was playing in a 
small boat chained near a huge rock a 
few hundred feet from where they sat. 
The waves of the quiet St. Lawrence 
seemed playfully to push the frail boat 
against the rock for the child’s amuse- 
ment, and at each jump from the boat 
to the rock the boy’s happy laugh rang 
in the cool and pure atmosphere to re- 
echo along the shores of the river. 
Suddenly, as if just having discovered 
something wonderful, the boy called 
out: “ Oh, papa! papa! come here!” 

“ What’s the matter, Louis?” an- 
swered the father. 

[i77] 


PRIEST AND MAN 


“ Come here quick; there’s some let- 
ters written on this big rock; come and 
see; they are just above the water.” 

“ Can’t you read them, my son? ” 

“ I guess I can, but they look so old 
that they can hardly be made out.” 

“Well, what are they?” 

“ They look like an M and a V, but I 
am not sure. Come and see if I am 
right, papa.” 

Victor and Marie-Louise looked at 
each other for an instant, and as Victor 
rose to go to his son his wife pressed his 
hand tenderly as tears of love came to 
her eyes. 

“ Look right there, papa,” said the 
little fellow, pointing to where the let- 
ters could plainly be seen. 

“ Oh, yes, I see, Louis ; you are right, 
the letters are M. V.” 

“ Who do you suppose took the trou- 
ble to write them in that hard stone, 
papa?” 

For an instant the father failed to an- 
swer, but as a smile came over his face, 
he said: “ I did, my son.” 

“Who made you do it, papa?” 

[178] 


A STRANGER IN THEIR MIDST 


“Your mother,” answered Victor, as 
he saw Marie-Louise coming near 
them. 

“ Do you remember, mamma, when 
you made papa carve those letters 
there?” 

“Yes, my boy, I remember very 
well,” answered Marie-Louise, and as 
she stood there with Victor, facing this 
memento of their young love, they felt 
that silver link, that silken tie, 

“ Which heart to heart and mind to mind, 

In body and in soul can bind.” 


THE END 


[ 179 ] 





















































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i 

Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process 
Neutralizing Agent: Magnesium Oxide 



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